


I'll Think About It Tomorrow

by tinzelda



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bedsharing, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers is clueless, Steve Rogers learns about sex, Wartime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 06:39:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6894127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinzelda/pseuds/tinzelda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve learns about sex and love, from his first less-than-satisfactory attempts to get laid to figuring out what he wants most in the world (one guess who that is). This started off as a simple five-times fic. I tend to write Steve as virginal (though eager) when he gets together with Bucky, but I wanted to force myself out of that and give poor Steve some experience. It makes sense that he’d want to take that amazing new body out for few test drives, right? But it kind of mutated and grew, and the fifth time turned into multiple times. Then the “plus one” turned into a story of its own rather than just a little scene… I couldn’t help it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Think About It Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to [poppyfields13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poppyfields13/profile) for beta reading another one of my monster-long stories. And for endless analysis of CW. And for being all-around fantastic.

*1*

The plan was to do it the night before Steve’s birthday.

“You can’t be a virgin when you’re twenty,” Bucky said. And somehow the way he said it didn’t make Steve feel bad that he’d never been with a girl. Instead, he felt sort of flattered that Bucky was taking an interest.

It was a familiar feeling—Steve had never quite gotten over the surprise he’d felt when Bucky’d approached in the schoolyard with a bag of marbles in his hand and said, “Wanna play?” Steve had refused at first because he didn’t have any marbles of his own. “I’ll give you some of mine,” Bucky’d said, as if it were the most obvious solution in the world. As they played, Bucky’s sure aim won him back each and every marble he’d given to Steve, but by the time the game was over, it didn’t seem to matter anyway because Bucky had decided they were friends.

Bucky talked about his plan for weeks. “It’ll be my treat,” he said. “Your birthday present.” He also bought a bottle of whiskey to celebrate, but he wouldn’t let Steve have more than a taste. “Not too much,” Bucky said, “or you won’t be able to get it up.”

Steve didn’t think that was going to be a problem. Every time Bucky talked about it, Steve had to sit down and hide behind his sketchbook, or make sure his jacket was pulled down to cover the front of his pants. In fact, he was half-hard the whole way there, and as they walked through the bar downstairs, Bucky leaned in to talk right into his ear to be heard over the noise. “You ready?” he said. “It’s just up those stairs.” And Steve was ready, just like that. Hard as a rock.

Bucky walked him right to the door, one arm around his shoulders. Steve was nervous and much too aware of his dick. His breathing got raspy. Bucky gave Steve’s shoulder one last squeeze, but his playfulness had evaporated. He said, “Go ahead. Have fun.” But his face had gotten serious, almost mournful, like he was sending Steve off to a firing squad instead of a good time.

Maybe it was because of Bucky’s change of tone—before that he’d always talked about it lightheartedly, like it was just a bit of fun, nothing all that important, just something that had to be done so we might as well do it with a good attitude—or maybe it was because after Steve knocked and the girl called for him to come on in, the first thing she said was _Well, aren’t you the cutest little thing?_ Whatever it was, it took the wind right out of Steve’s sails. His dick went soft, and he froze in his tracks.

He stood there like an idiot, just inside the door, wishing he could just go back home with Bucky and keep drinking. He would get really drunk and forget all about this. But what would Bucky think of him if he chickened out?

The girl was nice about it. Once she saw that Steve was nervous, she patted the bed next to her. “Come on, sit with me.” Steve obeyed. She rubbed his thigh and kind of nuzzled at his neck, but after a few seconds, Steve sprang up and walked back to the door. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Your friend told me it’s your first time. Don’t worry, there’s nothing to it.”

Steve looked around. It wasn’t a bad room. It was clean, and there were a bunch of picture postcards tacked to the wall over the bed. But it was tiny, and with the curtains pulled shut for privacy it was like an oven.

“Do you live here?”

“Yeah.” She paused, studying him. “What’s the matter? Don’t you like me?”

“No, no, that’s not it.” Steve made himself look at her in the face. He’d felt too shy to do it before. She was lovely, fair skin and sandy hair in waves (though Steve usually went for brunettes—funny that Bucky hadn’t remembered that). She wasn’t much older than Steve, and thinking about her being so young and having to do this for living just made it _worse_. “That’s not it at all. You’re beautiful.”

She seemed to see that the compliment was genuine, and she smiled. She looked even prettier when she smiled. And even younger.

“I just—” Steve swallowed. “I think this was a mistake.”

“It’s okay if you’re nervous. I get that a lot. I can help. Just use my hand first.”

“No, uh, thanks, no,” Steve swiped at his forehead with the back of his hand. “That’s okay. You can keep the money. Just . . . don’t tell Bucky, okay?”

She smiled again. “I won’t.”

Now that it seemed settled, relief washed over Steve, and he was able to breathe again. He turned to go.

“Wait, honey, if you don’t want your friend to know, maybe you ought to wait a little while?”

“Oh, right. Yeah, thanks.” Steve let go of the doorknob. “Uh, how long does it usually take?”

“The first time?” She laughed. “Not very long. Let’s wait ten minutes or so.”

Steve looked at his watch. “Okay.”

As he came down the stairs, he saw Bucky right away, sitting on a stool at the bar with a glass in front of him. He was hunched over, his forehead in his hand. Steve had only been upstairs for fifteen minutes—twenty at the most. How much had Bucky had to drink? Was he feeling sick?

Steve touched Bucky’s shoulder. “Bucky? You okay?”

Bucky lifted his head. He looked surprised to see Steve, but right away he smiled wide. “So?”

“So, what?”

“So how’d it go?”

Steve couldn’t speak, but he shrugged and started blushing, and that was answer enough. Bucky pounded on his back and called for the bartender to bring them a round, and then another. By the time they walked home, they were both pretty unsteady on their feet.

“Hey,” Bucky said, fumbling with the cuff of his jacket so he could see his watch. “Hey, it’s your birthday now. Happy birthday, pal.” He pulled Steve into a swaying hug.

“Thanks, Buck.” They kept swaying for a few moments too long. “Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“I think you better let go of me, or at least stop rocking like that. Or else I’m gonna be sick.”

Bucky laughed and pulled away, but he didn’t let go completely. Instead, he kept one arm wrapped around Steve’s shoulders and steered him toward home. Even drunk as he was, he helped Steve up the stairs and into bed before falling down on his own bed across the room.

“It was good, wasn’t it?” Bucky said quietly “She’s quite a dame, isn’t she?”

It felt to Steve like the bed was spinning, though he really hadn’t had very much to drink. “You’ve—you’ve . . . _visited_ her?”

Bucky laughed. “Yeah. Yeah, sure. She’s a real tomato, right? Perfect. Soft skin, great legs.”

Steve hadn’t even looked at her legs, but still, he started to get hard. _Yeah, too little, too late_ , he thought.

“So you got that outta the way, right? That’s good. Now it’ll be easier with girls. Regular girls, I mean. You’ll be more relaxed.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to relax, talking to a pretty girl.”

“We’ll find you an ugly one then.”

As Bucky laughed at his own stupid joke, Steve blurted out the truth. “I couldn’t do it.”

Bucky’s laughter stopped dead. “What?”

“I couldn’t—you know. I just—”

Steve didn’t expect Bucky to laugh. Bucky wasn’t mean like that. But he expected him to say _something_. The silence seemed to go on forever. Steve wished it was dark so that Bucky couldn’t see the blush spreading over his face. 

“Do you mean—?” Bucky said. “You mean you didn’t—”

“No, I didn’t.” Steve closed his eyes and let his head plunk back down on the mattress. His face was flaming, and his dick was still poking at the front of his trousers. He realized, with the way he was sprawled across the bed, that it was probably really obvious too, so he rolled over on his side, facing the wall. “It wasn’t—I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, c’mon. It’s okay. It’s fine.” Bucky let out a long, loud breath. “I should’ve realized—that’s not for you. You need a girl you care about. We’ll find you somebody. A real catch.”

*2*

It took a couple of years before Steve met Lillian. Lillian was a college girl with a dozen different causes. Steve met her on the subway when she was headed to a political rally with a bunch of her friends. He heard them talking, so he shyly interrupted to ask about the event and ended up tagging along. Before they parted that night, Lillian told him about the next meeting, and then the next, until finally Steve got up the courage to ask her to go to a movie with him. She looked surprised, but in a good way.

It became kind of a regular thing. He saw her several times each week: a couple of her political events, like a rally or a speech, and maybe a movie or a cheap dinner out. It wasn’t like Steve had always thought it would be if he ever got a steady girl. He’d imagined double dates with Bucky, the four of them becoming fast friends, but Bucky’s girls were always fun—they loved dancing and music, and Lillian was so serious. She seemed more at home with her college friends, and Steve liked them too, though he spent a lot of time at the library reading up on things they mentioned casually, assuming that everyone understood. It was good for him, Steve reasoned, to learn this stuff, since he hadn’t been able to afford college.

Still, Steve held out hope that at least Bucky and Lillian could be friends, so he talked Bucky into going along when he was meeting Lillian at a diner after her classes one evening. Bucky was polite, and as he and Steve walked home, he called Lillian a firecracker. “She’ll tell you what she thinks,” he said. “No doubt about that.”

But the second time Bucky met Lillian, he didn’t say anything at all. Though later, when Steve asked him about it, he had quite a lot to say. “She was talking about birth control, Steve. You know some of those nuts are mixed up with eugenics.” Bucky’s voice was quiet, but Steve could still tell that he was angry.

“Lillian’s not like that,” Steve insisted. “She just wants women to have more control of their lives. She volunteers in a soup kitchen, and she sees how hard it is for some people to feed their kids, how worn out some ladies get from having so many babies.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Especially the poor women. Or the ones with diabetes. The ones who might have sickly kids. Gotta give them _control_ so they can stop having babies. Is she your girl, Steve? Or are you one of her charity cases?”

Never in his life had Steve been so tempted to haul off and slug Bucky in the mouth. He couldn’t bring himself to do it, though. He was afraid that Bucky wouldn’t hit him back.

So instead, Steve turned and walked out the door, down the stairs, and out into the street. He walked around for at least an hour before he could gather the courage to show up on Lillian’s doorstep. He had to knock four times before she answered the door.

“Steve! What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“Your face is all red. Come on in and let me get you something cool to drink.”

“I don’t want a drink.” He followed her into the house.

“Sorry it took me so long to get to the door. I was upstairs. Mrs. Sullivan usually answers the door, but I forgot it’s her bridge night. You want lemonade? Or there might be bottle of pop if you’d—”

“I told you, I don’t want anything to drink.” It came out sounding a lot angrier than he meant it to.

Lillian finally stopped and really looked at him. “You sure you’re okay?” 

“I’m fine.” Steve pushed the hair out of his eyes. “Lillian, are you my girl?”

The whole time he was walking around, he’d been trying to steel himself for her reaction. She might have no idea what he was talking about—she might just think they were friends. Or what if she laughed?

But, to Steve’s surprise, she gave him a delighted smile. She looked even prettier when she smiled, though she didn’t do it often. She was always so serious, so intent on understanding the way the world worked, so busy with her causes.

“Oh, Steve.” She said it almost like she was scolding him, but then she threw her arms around him and kissed him. Not an innocent little peck either, but a real kiss, slow and lingering.

He wished Bucky could see—that would show him.

When Lillian pulled away, Steve immediately lunged forward for another kiss. A surprised little grunt caught in Lillian’s throat, but her arms tightened around his neck, and she pressed close. They were almost exactly the same height, so Steve didn’t have to bend down to kiss her, but at least he didn’t have to tilt his chin _up_.

“Come upstairs with me,” she said. Her breath was hot on his ear.

“But Lillian—”

“I told you, Mrs. Sullivan’s out, and Marjorie’s working the late shift this month. We’ve got the place to ourselves.”

She grabbed his hand and led him up the stairs. Her room looked like a little girl’s, with a few dolls lined up on the shelf over her bed and one sitting propped up against her pillow. She knocked it carelessly to the floor and fell onto the bed, pulling Steve with her. He landed awkwardly, half on top of her, but she smiled up at him. After a quick kiss, he toed his shoes off. They clumped down hard onto the wood floor. Steve cringed but reminded himself that no one else was home. He settled himself more comfortably, one arm tucked under his head and the other wrapped around Lillian’s waist.

“I didn’t know you had it in you,” she said, still smiling.

Steve thought maybe he should be insulted, but he forced a laugh. “What do you mean?”

She kissed him before answering. “You were always so sweet and shy—such a gentleman. I figured you didn’t like me that way.”

“I just didn’t know if you liked _me_ that way.” 

She nodded. “And so you came and asked me. I like that. Very direct.” She pushed up on one elbow. Her eyes closed as she leaned down for another kiss. Slow this time, like their kisses downstairs, and Steve’s dick stirred.

If Lillian liked him being direct, then he would keep on being direct. He let his hand wander over Lillian’s ribs, then slide up over her breast. He couldn’t really feel her flesh through the architecture of her brassiere, but she let out a happy-sounding sigh and pushed her tongue between his lips.

It was hard to concentrate with Lillian kissing him like that. But she made it easy on him, taking off her blouse and her bra and guiding his hands toward her breasts. He was stupidly fascinated by the feel of them in his hands: somehow soft and firm at the same time, and when he bent his head to kiss them, Lillian threw her leg over his hip, nudging him where she wanted him. He blushed when he realized what she was doing, rubbing hard against his thigh.

Lillian’s hand snaked between them to cup Steve’s dick through his pants. He choked on his breath and jerked forward into her hand, but all too quick she yanked her hand away to tear at his belt buckle. She pulled his clothes off him, then stood at the side of the bed to shimmy out of her skirt. When she climbed back on the bed, she swung one leg over Steve to straddle him, watching his face through heavy-lidded eyes as she moved lower, letting his dick slide along outside the wet folds between her legs.

“But wait,” Steve said. “Wait, I don’t have anything—I mean, I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

She smiled down at him fondly. “Don’t worry.” After a quick peck of a kiss, she leaned over to fumble in the drawer of her nightstand—of course Lillian would have rubbers. Steve let her roll one onto him, but he felt suddenly nervous. This wasn’t how he’d imagined this happening, though he couldn’t have said exactly what he’d hoped for, his first time.

Lillian was leaning over him now, bending her head for a kiss. Steve closed his eyes and kissed her back for all he was worth. _I’m ready_ , he told himself. He was twenty-two years old, for God’s sake. Bucky’d wanted him to get this over with before he turned twenty. It was time—past time. He pulled Lillian closer, and with just a shift of her hips, she was sinking down onto him, her body warm around his dick, and Steve couldn’t breathe.

At first, it didn’t feel as good as when she’d ground down against him. The rubber separated him from her wet warmth, but then she began to move over him, angling her hips and pushing up and down. Steve thought he should be doing more, but she was moaning, her eyes closed and her mouth gone slack, so she must have liked it. He pulled his right hand off her hip and reached for her breast, and she arched her back to push against his palm.

“That’s good, Steve,” she said. “Just like that.”

He still didn’t feel like he was doing much of anything. He had trouble moving with her weight on top of him, grinding his hips down into the mattress, but he moved his left hand to her other breast, trying for a gentle caress instead of grabbing on for dear life.

Lillian started bouncing hard on Steve’s dick. Each time she came down, it pushed a quiet cry out of her, almost like a bark, and for a minute Steve wanted to laugh, but he squashed the urge and tried to push his hips up to meet her. She seemed to like that—she groaned, and Steve could feel her muscles tightening around him.

“Harder, please,” she whispered.

Steve’s ears went hot, but he liked her saying it too. He still could barely move but tried to push his hips up as she grew still. He slid lower so that he could bend his knees and get traction with his feet flat on the bed. Now he could really thrust up into her.

“Yes, like that,” she gasped out. 

God, she really liked it, and it felt better for Steve too, to be moving. He was gasping for breath now, feeling almost dizzy, but he wouldn’t stop for anything. Lillian had fallen quiet, drooping over Steve, but she held herself up to let Steve keep going. He could feel _everything_ , and it was _good_. It was _amazing_.

He could feel the heat gathering low in his belly. He recognized it from when he touched himself, but it was different when it wasn’t his own hand, when he had Lillian’s sweat-sticky skin in his hands and her panting breaths warm on his face. He was close, so close, and she ground down hard with her hips, pushing him over the edge. He grabbed at her shoulders, pulling her against his chest, and he couldn’t breathe, but he didn’t care. He held her tight as he came, knowing he was yelling and not caring about that either.

Afterward, they were quiet for a long time. Steve stroked Lillian’s breasts—her skin was so soft—while she ran her fingers through his hair. He would have drifted off to sleep, but the front door of the house closed loudly, and Lillian jumped out of the bed.

“Mrs. Sullivan is home!” She hissed. She sped around the room, picking up Steve’s clothes, then shoved them into his arms.

As Steve pulled his clothes back on, Lillian slipped on her bathrobe and ran her fingers through her hair to tidy it. She caught Steve smiling at her—she looked pretty like that. Usually she kept everything about herself somehow tamped down, and Steve liked seeing her hair a mess and her cheeks flushed.

“Come to a movie with me Saturday?” Steve whispered.

“Yes, yes,” Lillian said. She waved at him with both hands as if annoyed, sending him tiptoeing out of the room, but she was smiling slightly, so Steve knew she was pleased. Steve was pleased too—how many movies had he sat through trying to ignore Bucky necking with his date in the next seat over? Steve wanted to kiss Lillian in the flickering dark of the theater, now that he knew he was allowed.

Lillian thumped down the wooden stairs, covering Steve’s footsteps with her own. He snuck out the front door while she asked loud questions about Mrs. Sullivan’s luck at cards that evening.

As he walked home, Steve didn’t feel any different. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but he thought he’d feel _something_. If not exhilaration, at least relief. Instead, he didn’t feel much of anything. He knew telling Bucky would help—would make it seem real. But he couldn’t tell Bucky. It wouldn’t be right to tell him, not without Lillian’s permission, and Steve would never ask her. Besides, he was mad at Bucky—what he’d said was awful. So Steve wouldn’t say anything at all.

When he unlocked the door, Bucky was sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. He leapt to his feet. “Steve—”

Steve shook his head and shoved past him, heading straight for the bedroom. He didn’t even turn on the light—just threw himself on his bed. After a while, he heard Bucky come into the room and sink onto his own bed.

“Steve?” he said softly. “Steve, I’m sorry.”

Steve held his breath. He was afraid if he said anything, if he even moved a muscle, he would shatter into a million pieces.

Bucky waited a few minutes more before getting up and striding out of the room. Then Steve heard the apartment door slam shut.

The next morning when Steve woke up, Bucky wasn’t in his bed. Steve got up to look in the other room—not that he was worried—and found Bucky asleep on the sagging couch. He reeked of whiskey, and his bottom lip was swollen and split by an angry, bloody line.

For the next six weeks, Steve felt like he was living someone else’s life. He barely spoke to Bucky. Partly because Bucky was almost never home. Partly because when he was home, he went around with his jaw set all stubborn. And Steve wasn’t about to give in first. The only time he would directly address Bucky was when he was walking out the door on Monday nights, because then he could say, “I’m going to Lillian’s.”

Every Monday, Steve would go see Lillian while Mrs. Sullivan was out playing bridge, and she would take him upstairs to her tiny bedroom. She’d already have the shades pulled down. He would undress and lie on her narrow bed, and she would kiss him and straddle his hips, lowering herself onto him. When they were done, she’d snuggle up next to him and they’d just lie there, maybe talking now and then, but mostly just being close. Until just after ten, when Mrs. Sullivan always came home.

It was the only time Steve felt calm, the only time his stomach wasn’t tied up in knots. He figured maybe he was in love with Lillian, if just lying there with her could make him feel so peaceful.

One Monday night in September, Steve arrived to find Lillian looking wild-eyed. Her face was flushed too—she looked pretty like that, but the minute Steve was through the door she started talking a mile a minute.

“There’s a protest tonight. Robert, Minnie, and Irma are probably already there. If we leave now we won’t miss much.”

Steve was already mostly hard inside his boxer shorts, so it took him a few minutes to understand what she was saying.

“A protest?”

“Yes!” She was already nudging Steve back toward the door, and he realized they wouldn’t be heading up to her bedroom tonight.

“A protest about what?”

“Didn’t you see the papers?”

“No, I came here straight from work,” Steve said. “What’s going on?”

“The _draft_. Didn’t you hear?”

“The draft? They’re starting a draft?” Elation welled up in Steve, and relief that they were finally going to do something other than sit and watch. “Wait, you want to protest the draft? You don’t want us to fight?”

Lillian spun to face Steve. She looked horrified. “You want us to fight?”

“There’s a bunch of bullies marching all over Europe,” Steve said. “Somebody’s gotta stop them.”

Lillian crossed her arms. “War is never the answer.”

“You really believe that? Peace at any price?”

Lillian had a lot more to say, but Steve didn’t listen. After only a few minutes he walked out and made his way back to the bus stop, still fuming. 

When Steve got home, Bucky stared. His mouth worked behind his tight-pressed lips—Steve could tell he was trying to decide what to say, if anything. Steve was still too angry to speak.

After an awkward pause, Bucky finally said, “Isn’t it Monday?”

Steve nodded.

There was another long silence before Bucky tried again. “Isn’t Monday always your date with Lillian?”

“We’re through,” Steve said. “It’s over.”

Steve had thought Bucky might look smug about it, after all the things he’d said about Lillian, but he frowned and stood up to approach Steve. His obvious concern made Steve’s anger burn right out, but he shuffled away. He didn’t want Bucky to put his arm around him.

“What happened?” Bucky said. 

“She’s protesting the draft. She’s against the _war_ , Buck. She thinks we should stay out of it.” _Peace at any price?_ he’d said sarcastically, and she hadn’t objected. He shook his head, still frustrated. “Let them march all over—”

“No, I get it. But how is it you never talked about it? I thought this kind of thing was all that dame thought about.”

“I don’t know.” Steve felt kind of stupid, now that he thought about it. “We agreed about almost everything else, so I guess I just assumed. . . .”

Bucky squinted at Steve. It looked like maybe he was trying not to laugh. “Still, you dumped a dame because of _politics_?”

“You were the one who talked about her politics first, about—”

“I know.” All the amusement in Bucky’s expression evaporated. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Steve mumbled.

“No, it’s not. I’m really sorry. I—” Bucky bit his lip. It seemed there was more he wanted to say, but he just shook his head. “I don’t know what was wrong with me.”

“Let’s forget it,” Steve said. Bucky did look ashamed of himself, and it made Steve feel vaguely ashamed too, though he didn’t think he’d done anything wrong, really.

“Okay,” Bucky said. “Deal.”

Steve tried a smile, and Bucky beamed back at him.

“If you’re not going out with some dumb girl, how about we go catch a movie?”

Steve felt better than he had in weeks. “Yeah, let’s go to the movies.”

*3*

When Steve first started with the USO, he got a lot of attention. There were a few men traveling with the show, but most of them worked in the crew, moving the heavy sets and getting everything set up. They didn’t seem to know what to make of Steve—they went silent and avoided his eyes when he tried to sit with them on the train or join them for a coffee break. So he ended up with the girls. They were a lot more welcoming, though they teased him.

Not that the serum had made him any better at flirting—he still froze. He considered himself lucky if he didn’t start blushing. But it made the girls in the chorus protective and motherly, fussing over him. They made sure he got enough to eat—it seemed like he was always hungry now—invited him to play cards with them on the train, and, when they found out he could draw, asked him to sketch their portraits so they could send them home to their parents. It was like suddenly having a couple dozen sisters.

Except for Alice. Long after the other girls stopped giving him flirty smiles and started looking at him with a mixture of fondness and pity, Alice didn’t quit. She’d catch Steve’s eye and pull a funny face to make him laugh. She’d race to get the seat next to him on the train and spend the entire journey teasing him. Steve had a feeling she leaned close on purpose when she pointed out passing scenery, making sure her breast would brush his arm or press into his shoulder.

And Steve _liked_ it. He liked that Alice made him laugh. He even liked it when she made him blush. It didn’t hurt that Alice was beautiful. She was what his mother used to call _Black Irish_ , with dark wavy hair, creamy skin, and sparkling blue eyes, like Bucky.

It went on for months, and Steve figured it was just Alice’s way of passing the time. When there was nothing else to do, she’d find Steve for a few minutes of flirtation, and they’d both walk away smiling. He never figured she really meant anything by it.

Until Steve’s birthday. They had a big show in Chicago the afternoon before, then boarded a bus for a few hours’ drive before stopping in a tiny Midwestern town. They a day off for the Fourth, and everyone contributed what they could for a makeshift picnic. A few of the girls pooled their liquor stashes to make a foul-smelling punch. Steve steered clear, but everyone else indulged, and by evening, Alice was tipsy. She leaned heavily on Steve’s shoulder as they sat on the grass to watch the town’s modest fireworks display.

“I could use another glass of that punch,” she whispered into Steve’s ear.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough? You might regret it in the morning.”

Alice laughed. “I won’t think about that now,” she said, talking with a Southern lilt like Scarlet O’Hara. “I’ll think about it tomorrow.”

“You might have such a headache you won’t be able to think about much of anything,” Steve said.

But she batted her eyelashes at him and waved her hand in front of her face as if she held a fan. He rolled his eyes and laughed, and as they walked back to their hotel, he let her hold his arm.

Betty and Geraldine caught up with them. They were a couple of sisters who often roomed with Alice. Betty tugged gently at Alice’s arm. “Come on, Alice, we’ll get you back safe.”

Did they think Steve was taking advantage? He was about to voice an indignant denial, but then he noticed Betty’s expression. She was frowning at Alice, her disapproval clear, but when she turned her gaze to Steve, it was full of concern. She and Geraldine were there to protect _Steve’s_ virtue, not Alice’s. But Steve didn’t want their protection, and Alice wasn’t taken in either.

“I’m fine.” She smiled at the girls sweetly. “Steve’ll look out for me.”

Geraldine looked at him, her forehead creasing, and he smiled too. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll make sure she gets back okay.”

When they reached the hotel, neither of them even pretended they were going to the room Alice shared with Betty and Geraldine. They headed straight for Steve’s tiny single room, and the second the door closed behind them, their bodies slammed together. Her arms stretched up to circle his neck as they kissed, and Steve’s hands slid down her sides, settling on the flare of her hips.

Steve was instantly, shockingly hard. Alice noticed right away, of course, and pulled back to look at him with one eyebrow raised. “Wow, Steve.” She reached out to cup her hand over the obvious bulge in his pants. “I knew you were hiding your light under a bushel, but _wow_.”

His face flushed, but he closed his eyes and enjoyed the teasing movements of her fingers through the fabric. When her hand withdrew, his eyes sprang open just in time to see her unpin her hair. It fell to her shoulders in soft curls.

“Let’s get this show on the road then,” she said, already unbuttoning her blouse. Then she turned her back to him. “Unzip me?”

Steve kissed the smooth, pale skin of her neck as he slid down the zipper on the back of her skirt. She let it fall to the floor. One strap of her slip was sliding off, down over her arm, and Steve bent his head to press his lips to her bare shoulder. She spun in place, and her arms snaked around his neck again as she craned up to press her lips to his. Then she said, “Catch.”

She hopped up, sort of climbing him. He almost dropped her, but she laughed and wrapped her legs around him. He grabbed on to her just in time. She weighed next to nothing, though her dancer’s thighs felt strong in his hands. Her slip had ridden up, and his fingers caught on her garters, but her skin was soft, and he could feel the warmth of her, hard against his dick. She wriggled in his arms, rocking her hips against his. He groaned and kissed her.

“Take me to bed,” Alice said.

He pulled back to look at her face. “Is that an order?”

“That’s an order, captain.”

Still cupping her legs with both hands, Steve carried her across the room until his knees hit the bed. He started to bend so that he could lower her gently, but all of a sudden, she let go of him and fell. She landed hard, sprawled on the mattress. She laughed, but the sound of it made Steve pause: maybe she’d had more to drink than he’d thought.

“Alice? Are you sure you want to do this?”

She laughed again. Her slip was rucked up over her hips, exposing the pale skin of her thighs above her stockings and the lace on her panties. Steve felt a surge of lust.

“Of course, I’m sure.”

“You’ve had a little too much to drink. Maybe we should think about—”

“That’s no fun.” She sat up and fisted the front of his shirt, pulling him down for a kiss. “Like I said, I’ll think about it tomorrow.”

With the silky slide of her slip under his hands and her breath warm on his lips, Steve couldn’t find it in himself to object again.

*****

With Lillian, sex had always been slow and mostly quiet. Steve had always felt vaguely nervous until they were done and he could relax, lie still with her body close and warm against him.

But Alice was _fun_. She laughed a lot, and she made Steve laugh too, even though he was blushing more often than not—surprising him with ticklish pokes, playful bites, and kisses in places he never thought of as sensitive until she found them.

And it was different every time. Sometimes he never even got inside her. She steered his touch where she wanted it, moaning and grinding against his hand. She pushed his face between her legs, teaching him where to tease with his lips and tongue. He’d be achingly hard by the time she was done, and she always grinned at him and found a new way to make him come too. She sneaked into his hotel room. She pulled him into a dark theater corner and slid one hand into his tights. Tiptoed through train cars and crept into his bunk, sucking his dick with agonizing slowness and giggling when he couldn’t keep silent.

Steve felt a breathless exhilaration every time he saw her and walked around in an almost constant state of mild arousal. He wondered if it was his new body that made the difference or if Lillian just hadn’t been the right girl for him. But Steve threw himself into pleasing Alice—and letting himself be pleased by her in turn—with abandon.

But then late one night, after a show in St. Paul, Steve was feeling in the mood and went to find Alice in her room. At first Steve only noticed gratefully that Betty and Geraldine weren’t in the room—they still radiated disapproval every time Steve and Alice were together. Then he saw that Alice was packing her trunk.

“What’re you doing?” Steve wrapped his arm around her waist and tried to reel her in for a kiss. “We’ve got two more shows here tomorrow. You pack now and you’ll just have to unpack it all again.”

“I’m not doing the shows tomorrow,” Alice said quietly. She kissed Steve—just a peck—and quickly pulled away to tuck a stack of neatly folded blouses in one corner of the trunk.

“You’re not—?” Steve grabbed her arm. “What do you mean? Did they fire you?”

It wasn’t like they’d made much of an effort to keep this thing between them a secret. All the girls knew, and their gossip sometimes made Steve wish he was still hard of hearing. If the manager got wind of it, he might have let Alice go.

“No, Steve, I—” She finally stopped packing and turned to look at him, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “I’m going home. There’s a train at nine.”

“You’re leaving? But why?”

Steve had a moment of panic, remembering the night a few weeks back when he hadn’t had any rubbers and Alice had climbed on top of him anyway. _I’ll think about it tomorrow_ , she’d said with that fake Southern accent, and Steve had stupidly not objected. It had felt so good, with nothing between them, surrounded by her wet heat. Now it was tomorrow, and she was leaving. “Are you—I mean, you’re not in trouble, are you?”

“No. No, that’s not it.” She sighed, and her expression softened. “I’m engaged, Steve.”

“You’re—”

“I should have told you, okay? I should have—I know that. But when Ma wrote me—” Tears welled up in her eyes, and she turned away. “He’s coming home. He was wounded. Sounds pretty bad. He was in a hospital in Washington, but he’s home by now, so I have to go. And I can’t leave him now, can I? I don’t—”

“Alice.” Steve reached out, but she stepped away from him.

“Don’t.” Her voice had grown hard. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me.”

“But—”

“Come on, Steve. It’s not like you’d want to marry me even if I left him, would you?”

Steve was stunned into silence, one hand still hovering between them. Alice had never seemed like the type of dame looking for anything serious.

She smiled sadly. “I didn’t think so.” She bent and picked up her sparkly tap shoes from the floor and put them in a drawstring bag before stuffing them into the trunk. “So I’ll go home, and I’ll see him, and it’ll be okay.”

*4*

“ _Hi_.”

She said it so eagerly that it made Steve stop and look up from the photos where he was scrawling _Captain America_ over and over.

Ever since Alice left three months before, Steve had been a regular monk. He wouldn’t let himself get involved with another of the girls in the chorus. He was sick of overhearing their whispering gossip and was determined never to give them fuel to talk about him ever again. And he didn’t like the idea of stringing along some girl from the audience—they rarely spend more than a couple of days in any one city.

But this woman was hard to ignore. She was lovely: willowy and fair, with long blond hair. As he studied her beautiful face, her smile grew wider.

“Hi,” Steve said, then kicked himself. He was never smooth, but after all the flirting with Alice, he should have been able to come up with something better than that. He took a deep breath. “How did you enjoy the show?” He followed up the question with a smile, trying to make it sincere enough that she wouldn’t feel mocked if she’d genuinely liked the corny flag-waving and wry enough that she wouldn’t think less of him if the patriotic money grubbing had put her off.

She laughed. “It’s for a good cause.”

“Yeah, it is,” Steve said. Something in him relaxed.

Betty and Geraldine emerged from the swinging door that led backstage. Betty saw the blonde, then caught Steve’s eye and nodded encouragingly. She seemed to like him better now that Alice had left him in the lurch.

The blonde noticed the exchange, and her eyebrows hitched up. “A friend of yours?”

“All the girls are great,” Steve said. “We’re like one big, happy family.”

She smiled again, with a shake of her head Steve couldn’t interpret.

He held out his hand. “Steve Rogers.”

“I know.” She put her hand in his. “Ann Whiteford.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Even after they shook hands, Steve didn’t let go. “I hope you don’t think I’m being too forward, but I’d love to take you out for a late supper, if you know of someplace that’s still open at this hour.”

She cast down her eyes. “I don’t know.”

Steve steamrolled over the demurral. “I’m always starving after a show. Maybe a diner? I’d love some pancakes.”

She didn’t answer.

“If you’re not hungry you could just have a cup of coffee and keep me company,” Steve suggested.

When she raised her gaze to meet his, there was a hint of amusement in her eyes. “If I drink coffee this late, I’ll never get to sleep.”

Steve knew it was a risk, but he remembered the way she’d been looking at him when she first spoke to him. He raised his eyebrow in what he hoped was a suggestive manner and said, “Well, it’s not all _that_ late.”

She smiled shyly and nodded.

Steve changed out of his costume lickety-split and met Ann back in the lobby. He’d meant it about taking her out for something to eat, but when he got in her car, she drove him straight to her tidy little house, pulling him through the door and kissing him before she’d even put down her purse.

Ann’s kisses were slow and tender—nothing like Alice, whose kisses had been all darting tongue and nips of her teeth.

Even just kissing made Steve feel guilty. He’d be gone the next day. He wasn’t being fair to Ann, but wouldn’t it be worse to stop? And she clearly knew what she wanted. She pulled him down the hall to her bedroom and slipped out of her dress before starting on Steve’s uniform, kissing him all the while. 

She hadn’t turned on a lamp, but enough light streamed into the open door from the hall to make him feel self-conscious about standing there naked while she still had on all her underclothes. It was better when she closed her eyes and pressed close for a kiss. He let his hands rest on her hips, stroking the softness of her slip with his fingertips until she moved away abruptly and stripped off the rest of her clothes. Her breasts were small and firm with surprisingly dark nipples.

“ _Wow_ ,” he breathed out before he could stop himself. She laughed softly and tugged his head down for a kiss. Her skin was soft and warm under his hands. With their mouths still sealed together, she tugged him toward the bed. Steve lowered her down until her head was resting on the pillows, then settled next to her.

After another slow kiss, Steve slid his mouth away from hers, down her neck and over her breasts. He thought fleetingly of Alice—she’d liked it when he pinched her nipples and even liked him to use his teeth a little when she was on top and he could bury his face in her lovely breasts. He couldn’t imagine doing such a thing to Ann. But she sighed happily when he sucked gently at her taut nipples, so he lingered there as he ran one hand down her ribs, over her hip, and between her legs. She was already slick and wet, but he rubbed at her anyway, teasing until she hissed out “Please” and tugged at his shoulders.

He crawled between her legs and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, and he pushed inside her welcoming warmth. He felt strangely safe there, wrapped up in her body. He closed his eyes and began to move.

Ann let out little gasps as Steve thrust his hips forward, and it took several minutes for him to realize those weren’t sounds of pleasure. She was crying.

“Oh, God,” Steve pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. “Did I hurt you? Are you—?”

She shook her head. When Steve climbed off her and yanked the chain on the lamp next to the bed, she turned her face away from the light.

Steve sat on the edge of the mattress. He reached out with one hand but stopped himself before he touched her shoulder.

“Ann—” Steve couldn’t understand what had gone wrong. She’d seemed so eager.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“No, I’m sorry. If things moved too fast—” But Steve didn’t really think that was the problem. Her body had been ready—he was certain of that, at least.

“No, that’s not—”

Steve crossed the room in a crouch—painfully conscious of his lingering erection—and grabbed his pants. He dug into his pocket for his handkerchief and returned to the bed to hand it to Ann. She dabbed at each eye and gave Steve a sad smile.

“I really am sorry,” she said again.

She pulled the sheet up over her breasts, and Steve averted his eyes. Their nakedness now seemed strangely more intimate than being inside her.

“It’s just—you remind me of my husband.”

Steve froze, thinking of Alice and her fiancé, but Ann rushed in to explain.

“No, I don’t mean—he—” She stifled a sob in Steve’s handkerchief. “He was killed in the Pacific. Eight months ago.”

“Oh.” Steve couldn’t think of anything to say. And he felt awful for being relieved that he hadn’t just gone to bed with another man’s wife.

“He was a marine. His ship shot down a plane, and it fell right on him. At least—” She cut off and wiped her eyes again. “At least he didn’t suffer.”

She broke down completely then, and Steve could no longer stay away. He settled beside her and gently pulled her into his arms. Her sobs were violent at first but quieted quickly, though Steve didn’t move away even after her eyes were dry.

“You remind me of him,” Ann said. “He wasn’t as tall, but he had blue eyes like yours. Kind. And a little sad.”

It made Steve think of Bucky’s eyes—he’d looked so sad when he’d said goodbye—but he forced the image right out of his head.

“I thought being with you would make me forget.” Ann’s soft voice quaked. “But it’s _worse_.”

Steve tightened his arms around her, and she rested her head on his chest. They didn’t talk for a long time, but it was nice to be close like that. It was peaceful, just lying there quietly, next to her warm body.

Then Steve’s stomach rumbled, embarrassingly loud, and Ann laughed.

“You really did want to get pancakes?”

“Not _just_ pancakes,” Steve said, chafing her arm with his palm. “I wanted—” There was no way to finish that sentence that sounded good. “But I am always hungry.”

“Let me get you something.”

“That’s okay, you don’t have to—”

“Don’t be silly. It’s the least I can do.”

She was already pulling away. She rose from the bed, and Steve tilted his head to appreciate the graceful lines of her body as she crossed to the closet and pulled on a silky, pale green robe.

After she left the room, Steve listened to her opening and closing cabinets out in the kitchen and wondered if he should just get up and leave. But he had a feeling she was feeding him partially to have an excuse to keep him there.

Ann returned from the kitchen with a tray. Steve scrambled to sit up so she could hand him the tray and slip back under the covers with him. Again Steve was struck with the strange intimacy of their situation: cozied up in bed for a midnight snack like a long-married couple. But it was oddly comfortable for all that.

On the tray was a wedge of white cheese, a row of crackers, and some fruit. Steve started on a bunch of grapes while Ann peeled the apple. She held the peel up in one long strip when she was done.

“You’re a woman of many talents, I see.”

She smiled. “And how about you?” Her tone verged on teasing, and if he hadn’t seen her crying a few minutes before, Steve would never have guessed. She was cool as a cucumber now.

“What about me?” Steve asked.

She handed him a few apple slices. “You must have talents other than hawking bonds and punching Hitler.”

The comment surprised a laugh out of Steve. “Well, yeah. You got a pencil and paper?”

She gave him a quizzical look but fetched a sheet of stationery and a perfectly sharpened pencil from a drawer under the vanity table in the corner. The paper had a fancy letter _A_ embossed at the top. He could picture her writing letters to her husband on that stationery, but that was another thought he didn’t allow to linger in his brain. The war was making people do that a lot, it seemed. Like Alice always said: _I’ll think about it tomorrow_.

After cutting himself a thick slice of cheese and stuffing it into his mouth, Steve set the plate directly on the bedspread so he could use the surface of the tray to lean on. He turned sideways so that he could look at Ann properly and started to sketch.

“You draw?”

Steve nodded. For a while the only sound was the scratch of the pencil on the paper. “You don’t have to sit quite that still,” Steve assured her. “You can breathe, and you can talk.”

She smiled at him. “Can I see?”

“When it’s finished.”

He left the drawing rough—the quiet made things feel awkward—but the resemblance was clear, and Ann smiled when he handed the page to her. “It’s lovely. You’re very good—to do this so quickly.”

Steve shrugged. To hide his embarrassment, he reached for the plate and cut off another hunk of cheese.

“Thank you,” Ann said, then gave a huge yawn.

“I should let you get some sleep.”

Her face crumpled, but she nodded.

“Or if you want—” Steve hesitated. “If you want, I could stay. Just to make sure you’re okay.”

The wrinkles on her forehead smoothed out. “You don’t mind?”

It was a pleasure to curl up behind her and hold her in his arms—just as good as sex, in a different way. No one ever touched Steve anymore. He hadn’t realized how much he missed simple affection: his mother’s lips pressed to his forehead and Bucky’s arm around his shoulders.

In the morning Steve left before it was light, kissing her gently after making her promise to take care of herself. He turned back when he was halfway down the path. Looking at Ann’s quaint little house, part of him wanted to stay. No, that wasn’t it exactly. He didn’t want to stay, but he felt like he _should_ want to stay. Ann was lovely and kind. And she was even more lonely than he was. But it was a relief once he was out of sight of her windows.

*5*

The theater was so small that the manager gave the girls both dressing rooms, and they still had to take turns. Steve didn’t mind waiting until they were all done. He sat down with his sketchbook in an out-of-the-way corner to add shading to a sketch he’d started the night before. Some of the girls said goodbye as they left, and Betty and Geraldine even asked him to go grab a late dinner with them, but he smiled, politely declined, and went back to his drawing.

A loud crash startled Steve, and he jumped out of his chair, causing another crash when it fell to the ground. But then the theater was silent. Everyone else must have left, but then what made that noise?

“Hello?” Steve’s voice echoed in the empty building.

He was just about to give up and go back to his drawing when a guy in an army uniform stepped out of the shadows. Steve blinked—for a minute, he thought it was Bucky: he had Bucky’s dark hair, cleft chin, and broad shoulders, but his eyes were dark instead of blue.

“Gosh, I’m sorry,” the guy said. “I knocked over some kind of light. I hope I didn’t break it.” He smiled nervously at Steve.

“You looking for something?” Steve asked.

The guy’s face brightened into one of Bucky’s cocky grins. “A date.”

“Sorry.” Steve shook his head, more to clear his head of Bucky than in response to what the guy had said. “All the girls have left.”

Instead of looking disappointed, the guy laughed. “Well, I can’t just go back to my hotel. I’m shipping out tomorrow. How about you let me buy you a drink? Captain America’s gotta send a patriotic guy like me off in style, right?”

Steve huffed out a laugh. His gaze dipped down to the sketchbook in his hand, but he could finish his picture anytime. He didn’t know how he could refuse.

“Okay,” Steve said. “But I’m buying. It’s the least I could do.”

The guy’s eyebrows hitched up, then he held out his hand. “Warren Adams.”

“Steve Rogers.”

Warren had a good strong grip. “I know a nice place a coupla blocks away.” He grinned. “But I guess you want to change first.”

Steve’s cheeks grew warm. He’d forgotten he was still wearing his costume, and his hair was probably a wreck from being stuffed into the cowl for two performances. “Yeah, let me just—” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll just—I’ll be right back.”

With the girls’ costumes hung all over the place, he had trouble digging out his uniform. But once he found it, he changed quickly, combed his hair, and emerged from the dressing room to find Warren. He was gazing up at all the ropes and pulleys over the stage, and Steve cleared his throat so as not to startle him.

He turned and, when he saw Steve, smiled. “Wow.”

“Excuse me?”

“No, sorry, I was just surprised to see the uniform.” Warren shook his head. “You’re in the army?”

Steve had been hoping to avoid an explanation. “It’s kind of a special situation.”

“Tell me about it over that drink, huh?”

Steve led the way toward the theater’s back door.

“Hey, wait a sec,” Warren said. “You got an umbrella?”

“It’s raining?”

“It was pouring when I came in.”

“Huh.” Steve looked around, wondering if there might be an umbrella stashed somewhere backstage. “I don’t.”

Warren smiled. “Let’s make a run for it then. It’s only just down the street.”

“Okay.”

The weather had let up, but it was still raining hard enough to keep them moving fast until they reached the brightly lit entrance to a tall hotel. Warren held the door open for Steve, then led the way across the quiet, elegant lobby to the bar. It was pretty swanky, with wood paneling everywhere and tufted leather banquettes. Most of the patrons looked like business travelers—older men in somber suits, drinking alone—though there were a few other fellas in uniform. It wasn’t the kind of place Steve expected a soldier to pick for his last night before shipping out. There wasn’t even any music.

Warren put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. When Steve turned, Warren gestured toward an empty table in the back, then led the way. A bow-tied waiter appeared silently by the table, and Steve ordered a whiskey.

“I’ll have the same,” Warren said. When the waiter left, Warren looked at Steve with a grin. “So you’re in the army?”

“Technically,” Steve said. “Like I said, it’s a special situation. Some folks thought I could be more useful here selling bonds than overseas.”

“Lucky.”

“No,” Steve said immediately. “I’d give anything to be over there.”

“Then why didn’t you just enlist like everyone else? Get yourself a less special situation?”

“I tried. Several times, as a matter of fact.”

Clearly puzzled, Warren frowned, and Steve ignored the long story in favor of just part of the truth. “I have asthma.”

“Asthma?” Warren’s eyes swept over Steve, and a sly smile quirked up the corner of his mouth. “You look plenty healthy to me.”

The appraisal sent a hot flush all over Steve’s body, and he stared at Warren. Was he—? He couldn’t be flirting with Steve. He couldn’t, but that sure was what it seemed like.

The waiter appeared with their drinks on a round tray. He set the first one down in front of Steve, and he didn’t hesitate, grabbing the glass and taking a big gulp. He knew that with his new metabolism, he wouldn’t get any Dutch courage from it even if he downed the whole thing, but it gave him something to do while he figured out how to respond.

Steve had heard about fellas shipping out who got reckless, whether from high spirits or fear of what they were about to face. But still, Steve found it hard to believe that anyone would be so indiscreet. He must have misunderstood.

He turned his head to look around the bar. No one was close enough to hear their conversation.

“Yeah,” Steve said carefully. “I’m lucky. The asthma bothered me a lot more when I was a kid.”

Steve studied Warren’s face. There was no trace of the flirtatious slyness Steve thought he had glimpsed, and he didn’t look anxious that Steve might be offended. And what was he worried about, anyway? It didn’t matter, even if Warren was flirting with him. He could ignore it.

“Still,” Warren said. “How do you go from trying to enlist to getting up on stage?”

Steve shrugged. “Just trying to be useful. If they won’t let me fight . . .”

He let the sentence trail off when he noticed that Warren was watching his mouth rather intently. When he noticed that Steve had stopped talking, his eyes snapped up to meet Steve’s, and his eyebrows lifted in amusement.

Steve looked away. His heart was pounding. He took another swig from his drink, and when he set it down on the tabletop, it hit the wood with a dull thunk.

Warren’s shoulder nudged at Steve’s as he waved his hand at the almost-empty glass. “You want another?” He was sitting so close, and he spoke so quietly—it sounded vaguely inappropriate, though it was a simple enough question.

As Steve hesitated, he dared a glance at Warren’s face. He was smiling, but there was no slyness to it. Steve had to be imagining things.

“This round’s on me,” Warren said.

And it was there again—just a hint of intimacy in his tone. His quiet manner. Steve had a feeling he should be outraged. And his heart was beating fast, but it wasn’t because he was scandalized.

Warren’s expression turned uncertain, and it was that, more than his confident smiles, that convinced Steve to see where this would lead. It was probably nothing—all in Steve’s head.

“Sure,” he said. “Sure, why not?” 

Warren flagged down the waiter, and they waited silently until fresh glasses were set on the table in front of them. This time Warren grabbed his drink first. “We didn’t toast,” he said. He lifted his whiskey. “To a quick victory.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Steve clicked his glass against Warren’s and took a generous sip.

Silence fell over the table again, and Steve struggled for something to say. “This your hotel?”

“Yeah, pretty nice, huh?” Warren said. “My folks sent me some money, and it’s not like I’ll be able to spend it on anything after tonight.”

Steve nodded. “So where are you—?” He cut himself off.

“What’s that?” Warren said.

“Never mind,” Steve said. “Everything I want to ask you, I shouldn’t ask you.”

Warren’s eyebrows hitched up again, and he was smiling broadly. Now that Steve thought about it, his innocent remark did sound suggestive. His cheeks were growing pink, and Warren let out a bark of laughter. “Go ahead and ask me.”

Steve’s face was flaming hot. “I was going to ask where you’re going. But I shouldn’t. And then I thought I could ask where you were before—where you trained, but I shouldn’t ask that either.”

“You’d make a terrible spy,” Warren said.

“I know it,” Steve said. 

Warren laughed again. But Steve didn’t feel like he was being mocked, and he found himself smiling back. He couldn’t help but wonder if he was going crazy. Not that he was still wondering whether Warren was flirting with him—he definitely was—but Steve didn’t mind at all. He kind of liked it. Steve had never thought of himself as, well, _like that_. But nothing now was anything like he’d ever imagined. If he had this new life and this new body, shouldn’t he make the most of it?

With someone like this—ready to ship out the next morning—Steve wouldn’t have to feel guilty about not sticking around himself. And with a fella—well, most of them didn’t think about sex like girls did, did they? It didn’t have to be about love and romance.

Warren obviously liked Steve, and he sure seemed to know what he was doing. He was a nice enough guy, and nice-looking too. When Steve had first caught sight of him backstage, his eye had been drawn right to him. But that was just because he’d looked so much like Bucky.

Steve froze, his mind buzzing.

But he couldn’t think about that now. _I’ll think about it tomorrow_ , he thought frantically. It made him want to stop thinking altogether.

“If you can’t ask me about all that stuff,” Warren said. “National security being what it is, then maybe you could think of something else to ask me.”

He wasn’t looking at Steve, just staring down at his hand—he was toying with his drink. He spun the glass too quickly, making some of the whiskey slosh over the edge. The awkwardness of it was reassuring.

“Or you could ask me,” Steve said. “You could—”

He broke off when Warren’s head snapped up. They stared at each other for several long moments, until Steve had to look away. He stared down into his whiskey and said in a whisper. “You could invite me up to your room.”

Warren didn’t answer right away, and Steve fought down panic. He looked at Warren. His mouth was hanging open.

“Sorry, did I—” Steve stammered. “Did I get this all wrong?”

“No.” Warren put his hand on Steve’s wrist, as if he knew Steve was thinking about making a run for it. His fingers were cool on Steve’s skin after holding his glass, but he quickly pulled his hand away. His eyes darted around the room. “No, I’d love that. I just didn’t think—but, I’d love that.”

Almost dizzy with relief, Steve fell back against the leather cushion behind him. He was already getting hard—his new body was always ready to go at the slightest provocation. “Okay,” he said.

Warren still hadn’t looked at him, and Steve wished they were already alone upstairs. Doubt crept in. “Warren?”

He finally lifted his head then, giving Steve a shy smile. Steve blushed again, but he smiled back.

“Okay, sorry,” Steve said quietly. “I just—I’ve never been good at this part.”

“Don’t worry,” Warren said. “Nothing to it. No one’s going to pay any attention to you. Most of the guests here don’t stay long, so the staff doesn’t recognize anyone. I’ll go up first.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll leave the bar first and go up to my room. Room 405. You wait a few minutes, then come up too.”

“Okay. 405. Got it. I just didn’t know—I’m no spy, remember?”

Warren grinned, more relaxed now, and his knee bumped Steve’s under the table. Just like Bucky—but Steve shoved the thought out of his mind again.

“Just a couple minutes, right?” Warren whispered.

Steve nodded, then watched as Warren slid out of the booth and walked slowly out of the bar, disappearing through the door to the lobby.

Steve took a deep breath. He picked up his glass and drained it, then after only a moment’s hesitation, picked up Warren’s mostly full glass and emptied that too. It didn’t help.

He looked at his watch. Eleven minutes after ten. He would wait until quarter after, then go up.

The other men in the bar were all in their own little worlds: talking quietly, reading the newspaper, even dozing in their chairs. They weren’t paying any attention to Steve. Only a minute or two had passed, but every second, he was just getting more nervous. He dug out his wallet, tucked a couple of bills under one of the empty glasses, and stood up. His legs felt shaky, but he knew it wasn’t the alcohol.

In the lobby, he paused. The front door was only a few steps to the right, and heading that way would be so much easier than crossing the wide marble floor between him and the elevator. But he thought of Warren’s sly smile, the playful bump of his knee under the table. 

The ride to the fourth floor seemed to take forever, but when he found room 405, he didn’t even have to knock. Warren opened the door, grabbed Steve’s arm, and tugged him into the room.

He’d taken off his jacket and tie, and Steve stared at the white V of undershirt peeking out of his open collar.

“Sorry if I scared you downstairs,” Warren said. “You didn’t get anything wrong, but I didn’t think you’d go for it.”

Steve didn’t answer.

“I figured at least I’d have some handsome company for a while, you know? Even if you didn’t—” He broke off and made a vague gesture with one hand. “But you _did_.”

“I did. I _did_.” Steve felt stupid, parroting the words. He couldn’t stand waiting, and he wasn’t sure exactly what he was waiting for. “I _do_.”

Steve stepped close to Warren, put one hand on his shoulder, and kissed him. He made a choked off sound, clearly taken by surprise, so Steve pulled away with a mumbled apology.

“No, it’s good,” Warren said. He slung his arm around Steve’s neck. “I just didn’t think a guy like you would want to do that.”

He pulled Steve’s head down for a kiss that left Steve’s heart racing.

“Wait,” Steve said when his head cleared. “What do you mean, a guy like me?”

Warren kissed him again, quick this time, then tugged at the knot of his tie. “You gotta have girls throwing themselves at you, right? But a little suckjob from a fella now and then never hurt anyone.”

Steve lifted his chin to let Warren finish undoing his tie. He’d known that there were men who went to bed with other men, but it had never occurred to him that there were men who liked dames but still sometimes went with other fellas. Much less that he might be one himself.

“Steve?”

Steve’s face was flushing again. “To be honest, I don’t know what kind of guy I am.”

Warren was watching him, squinting slightly.

“But kissing’s okay?” Steve asked.

Warren shrugged. “Kissing’s great.”

“Okay.”

It was like Steve had used up all his courage with the first kiss, and he couldn’t make himself move. But he let Warren seal their mouths together as he pulled Steve’s tie out from under his collar. He tossed it across the room, but only half of it made it onto the dresser. The weight of the other half hanging pulled it down, and it slithered off the dresser top and into a pool on the floor. Steve closed his eyes. The tie didn’t matter.

Warren started on Steve’s buttons and, once they were all undone, tugged his shirt out of his trousers. Then he shoved his hands inside Steve’s undershirt. His fingers felt chilly on Steve’s sides, but still, he liked the feel of them wrapping around his ribcage, sliding back down to his waist, and traveling up his spine.

Warren paused for breath. “Wow,” he panted out, looking down at where Steve’s rucked up shirt left his stomach bare. “You’re—wow.”

Embarrassed by Warren’s awed admiration, Steve ducked his head for another kiss. Warren tilted his chin up with a smile but after a quick kiss moved away to unbutton his shirt and yank it off. He tugged on Steve’s arm, urging him toward the bed, then grabbed his undershirt and pulled it off over his head.

Watching Warren climb onto the mattress, Steve had another disjointed moment. From the back, with his build and his dark hair, he looked so much like—but no, Steve wasn’t letting himself think about that. He pulled off his own shirt and undershirt and let them fall to the floor. Warren had settled himself comfortably on the bed, and his eyes ran over Steve’s torso. It didn’t feel quite as embarrassing anymore, especially once Steve noticed Warren’s dick straining at the front of his pants. He wanted to touch it—maybe he was that kind of guy after all.

Steve threw himself down on the bed, landing half on Warren, who laughed and grabbed Steve by the nape of his neck for a kiss. When their lips parted, Steve glanced down at Warren’s crotch again, but he felt too shy to just reach out. Instead he rolled onto his back, pulling Warren with him until he was straddling Steve’s hips.

Steve’s fingers were cupped over Warren’s shoulders. The solid muscle felt good under his hands. He tugged Warren down, kissing him until his body relaxed, his hips lowering until they pressed against Steve’s. Even through the sturdy wool of his uniform trousers, the pressure of Warren’s dick against his made Steve gasp. He bucked up, and after a small surprised grunt, Warren pushed back, rocking slightly.

But the fabric between them frustrated Steve. He shoved Warren off—he ended up lying on his side—and crowded close, not hesitating now to cup his hand over the bulge in the front of Warren’s trousers. Warren groaned and thrust against Steve’s touch, craning up blindly toward Steve’s mouth.

Steve fumbled with Warren’s fly and shoved his hand into his boxers. He liked that even better: soft skin over hard flesh. Warren groaned when Steve rubbed tentatively. The sounds made Steve feel a little desperate, and he shoved at Warren again, pushing him flat on his back before he checked himself—he wasn’t exactly being gentle. But Warren grinned, and when he noticed Steve hesitating he grabbed his hand and guided it back inside his boxers.

After giving Warren a few rough strokes, Steve let him go to tug at his pants. Warren lifted his hips to let Steve pull the trousers down, then laughed as they caught around his feet. He toed off his shoes, then sat up to push his pants off the rest of the way and peel off his socks. As soon as Warren settled back on the bed, Steve pushed close, reaching for his dick again. He watched Warren’s expression as he stroked him: his eyes were closed, his mouth curved in a dreamy grin. 

Steve let his eyes range over Warren’s body. His broad chest had a smattering of hair that narrowed to a dark line running down his belly to his groin. Steve dared a glance at his hand, working the length of Warren’s dick. Warren’s hips were pushing up into Steve’s grasp, and he let out a low moan.

Strangely, Steve’s mind strayed to Alice—the way she’d always teased him. Steve had always been surprised at her enthusiasm when touching and sucking him, like she really enjoyed it rather than just doing it to be nice. But Steve was enjoying himself now. He liked drawing those noises out of Warren’s throat and seeing him thrust up, as if he couldn’t help himself.

Steve shifted down the bed, his hand still stroking, and pressed a kiss to Warren’s belly. Warren moaned again. Then Steve moved still lower, until his face was inches away from Warren’s dick. It was daunting, so close, but Steve knew what felt good. Girls were always kind of a mystery, their bodies so alien, but Steve could imagine what it would feel like as he rubbed his thumb over the slickness at the tip of Warren’s dick. He took a deep breath and gamely leaned in to take the tip of it into his mouth.

“Oh, God,” Warren said, and his fingers clutched at Steve’s head. Encouraged by the reaction, Steve moved his hand away so he could take Warren deeper, drawing out another groan.

Steve liked feeling daring—he sucked hard. Warren’s hips jerked up, choking Steve, and his teeth scraped across tender skin as he pulled away, making Warren hiss.

“Sorry,” Steve said. “Sorry, I—”

“It’s okay,” Warren whispered.

Steve looked up at him. “I’ve—well, I’ve never actually done this before.”

Warren looked startled, then burst out laughing.

“Sorry,” Steve repeated, feeling foolish.

“You kidding?” Warren said, still laughing. “I got a guy like you to—” He shook his head. “It’s _great_. And _that_ was great, it was—” He tugged at Steve’s arm until he shifted high enough on the bed for a kiss. “I want to see you naked,” Warren said. “Please, can I see you without your—?”

He was already tearing at Steve’s fly, but Steve took over, rising to his feet to quickly strip off the rest of his clothes. As he climbed back onto the bed, he caught Warren gazing at him smugly. He laughed again. “I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

Steve hurried to lie down again so that he could press close, hiding from the blatant scrutiny, though a part of him was gratified.

“I would’ve taken whatever I could get,” Warren said, running his hands over Steve’s chest and down his stomach. “Hell, I might’ve taken a _girl_ , but I got _you_.” His fingers wrapped around Steve’s dick and squeezed gently, but his hand wandered away again, gliding over Steve’s hip and stretching behind him to ghost over his ass, teasing. Then his fingers pressed harder, nudging Steve forward until their dicks lined up—so much better with nothing between them. Steve closed his eyes, wrapped his arm around Warren’s back, and rutted against him until Warren’s hand snaked between their chests and heaved Steve away from him.

Surprised, Steve opened his eyes.

“Sorry” Warren panted. “But I don’t want to rush.” He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and forced Steve to roll over onto his back. Steve grinned at him. He didn’t mind being pushed and shoved. He liked that they didn’t have to hold back or be careful of one another.

With one hand on Steve’s hip, Warren hovered over him for a few teasing kisses, then his mouth trailed over his jaw and neck, down his chest and stomach. He pushed between Steve’s legs, settled himself comfortably, and looked up at Steve with a sly smile before taking his dick deep into his mouth and sucking mercilessly until Steve was gasping for breath. He took Steve right to the edge of coming but then pulled off abruptly, giving Steve a few light touches with his hand.

“Good?” Warren’s voice sounded amused.

“God, yes.” Steve’s voice came out raspy.

“Good.” Warren sucked Steve into his mouth again, but went slowly this time, holding Steve still with one hand on his hip. His other hand stroked at Steve’s balls, rolling them in his fingers—no one had ever done that to Steve before, and he wasn’t sure he liked it—before moving lower to rub hard up behind them at the root of Steve’s dick. That made Steve cry out, only partially in surprise, then Warren’s hand went lower, rubbing at Steve’s asshole. Steve cringed with embarrassment, but Warren didn’t stop, tracing circles with his fingers until Steve’s body relaxed. The sensation was strange—intrusive—but good.

“You don’t like something,” Warren said, “you tell me.”

It was hard to think. Steve nodded.

“Okay?” Warren whispered.

Of course Warren couldn’t hear him nodding. “Okay,” Steve said. “It’s okay. I—I like it. I— _ah_.”

Warren’s finger had pressed harder, dipping inside for a split second before returning to the relentless circling.

Steve moaned, pressing back against Warren’s hand. “I want—” He hardly knew what he was asking for. He’d heard stories a long time ago, but from kids equally ignorant on the subject.

“Yeah?” Warren whispered. “You just dive right in, don’t you?”

Steve laughed. He didn’t like that it came out sounding breathy and nervous. “Will you—?”

Warren sucked hard at Steve’s dick before raising his head to answer. “Will I what?”

It took Steve a moment to catch his breath. “Will you show me how?”

An exaggerated groan was Warren’s only response as he lowered his head to take Steve into his mouth again. When he pulled off this time, he pushed up on his hands and knees and crawled up the bed, grinning down at Steve before bending for a kiss. He shook his head, still smiling. “You’re really something.”

After another quick kiss, he launched himself off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom.

“Warren?”

“Be right back.” His quiet voice echoed off the tile walls. “We need something slippery.”

Steve’s face went flaming hot, though it wasn’t all embarrassment. His dick jerked up at the thought of what they were about to do, though it had never before occurred to him to want such a thing.

When Warren returned to the bed, Steve grabbed him and tugged him down, pushing up on one elbow to wrap his other arm around Warren’s waist and plunge his tongue into his mouth. After a muffled noise of surprise, Warren slung an arm around Steve’s neck, his other hand finding Steve’s dick for a few casual strokes. Then he pushed at Steve’s shoulder until he settled on his back, flat on the mattress. There was a pause while Warren fumbled with something in his hands.

“What is that?” Steve asked. He whispered without meaning to—this seemed to call for secrecy.

“Vaseline.” Warren chuckled. “It isn’t the best thing. Sort of too gummy. But it’ll do fine.”

Steve nodded. He tried to keep his body relaxed.

“Okay,” Warren said, pushing close for another kiss. “Ready?”

Again, Steve nodded, but rather than get started, Warren squinted down at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Warren still didn’t move. Steve grabbed his head and kissed him deeply. “Really, I’m good.”

Warren nodded and, without opening his eyes, pressed his lips to Steve’s once again. His hand stroked over Steve’s dick, gummy but slick too, and Steve moaned. Warren gave a hum of approval, and his hand moved lower. His fingers circled as they had before, sliding so easily now that Steve didn’t notice at first when Warren pushed one finger inside of him.

Steve stayed still, gauging the feeling. There was no pain. But there was no real pleasure either. Just a strange feeling of fullness until Warren started to move his hand. The glide of his finger in and out— _that_ was good, and it felt even better when he pulled all the way out and pressed back in with two fingers. Steve shifted on the bed, moving his legs farther apart.

“Good,” Warren murmured against Steve’s neck. “That’s good. Just relax. We’ll take our time.” His patient words were contradicted by the motion of his hips: short jerky movements with his dick prodding at Steve’s thigh.

Steve had seen Warren’s dick up close. It wasn’t quite as big as Steve’s, but still, it was larger than just a couple of fingers. Steve started thinking about the mechanics of it, wondering how it was even possible. But when Warren eased a third finger in, the stretch had only a thin edge of pain to it. He pushed deep, and it sent a liquid hot pleasure flooding through Steve’s body. The pain melted away, leaving behind only the slow warm glide of Warren’s fingers punctuated by the bursts of almost overwhelming sensation that made Steve shudder.

Warren pressed a kiss to Steve’s lips, but Steve was too distracted to return it properly, gasping through his open mouth. Warren moved his head lower to apply several sucking kisses to Steve’s neck.

“I think we’re just about ready,” he whispered.

Steve nodded but almost immediately changed his mind. “Wait.” He didn’t want to pause just yet—it felt so good like this. He canted his hips, rocking against Warren’s hand.

Warren pressed his forehead against Steve’s jaw. “God, this is going to be good.”

“But just—” Steve shift his hips again—he was so close.

“It’ll be good. Better. Trust me. I can get even deeper than with my fingers.”

Steve groaned at the thought and didn’t complain when Warren withdrew his hand and pushed himself up to crawl between Steve’s legs. After a little fumbling, he found the little jar in the rumpled sheets, dipped his fingers into it, and rubbed his hand over his dick. He hooked one hand under Steve’s bent knee and pulled it up, tilting Steve’s hips where he wanted them. With his other hand, he reached down to get lined up. Steve closed his eyes and smothered the sudden nervousness that made him want to wriggle away.

Then Warren pushed slowly inside. The stretch of it—tight but not painful—made Steve feel hot all over. When Warren paused, pulled back slightly, then slowly pushed deeper, an embarrassing gurgling noise was forced out of Steve’s throat. His eyes sprang open, but if Warren had noticed the sound, he didn’t react. His eyes were screwed shut, and he was biting his lip. He looked like he was trying hard not to come. Steve drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes again.

The press of Warren’s hips was gentle but steady, until his body was flush against Steve’s. Steve hadn’t even realized he’d been bracing for pain until he realized that Warren was as deep as he could possibly go. He consciously forced himself to relax, loosening the muscles in his thighs, back, and stomach. The shift in Steve’s body allowed Warren to push a tiny bit closer, and without the anxiety of possible pain, Steve could enjoy the feeling. Warren pulled back and thrust in again—it _was_ better than fingers, stretching him open, filling him perfectly.

Steve reached up to grab Warren’s shoulder, and he bent down for a breathless kiss. With Warren’s hand still tucked behind Steve’s knee, the position folded his body awkwardly, but when Warren moved, the angle was just right, his dick nudging at that spot inside that made white-hot sensation spark up Steve’s spine. Steve moaned, his hands urging Warren closer.

“Holy—” Warren cut himself off abruptly. His movements quickened, thrusting less carefully now. He pushed up with both hands, and Steve’s arms fell, sprawling gracelessly to his sides. He forced his eyes open to see Warren’s forehead creased with concentration. He shifted somehow, changing the angle again so that he could grab Steve’s hips with both hands. Steve wrapped his legs around Warren’s waist, and he looked up, surprised, to grin at Steve before starting to move again. His thrusts were wild now, and fast. Steve cried out once but then had no breath for any other noise. Warren’s hand wrapped around Steve’s dick, and instantly Steve came hard. He felt the hot splash of it over his chest.

“Oh, yeah,” Warren panted out, still pounding his hips against Steve’s body.

The second surge splattered up to Steve’s cheek, making him turn his face away. After a few more forceful thrusts, Warren groaned and froze, then collapsed on top of Steve.

The room spun around the edges of Steve’s vision. He shut his eyes, but that was even more disorienting. The bed seemed to sway beneath him like a rowboat in a storm. So he stared up at the ceiling while he caught his breath.

When Warren stirred, Steve lifted his head to look at him. His cheek was wet and sticky from where it had pressed against Steve’s chest. Some of the slickness had even gotten into his hair. Steve’s face went hot, and he scrabbled with one hand for the sheet to wipe away as much of it as he could. But Warren only laughed.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Good sex is messy.” He pushed himself up higher to survey Steve’s torso. “And judging from the mess, I guess it was pretty damn good.”

Steve laughed, though he was still blushing.

Warren grabbed the sheet from Steve’s hand and used it to mop at Steve’s chest before shoving it toward the foot of the bed. He settled next to Steve, seemingly unconcerned by their nakedness. Steve tried not to get shy, but now that they were done, he felt somehow more naked than before.

He let his eyes fall closed, and the bed was no longer rocking. He thought he would rest for only a few minutes, but he found himself jolting awake, looking at Warren with a cigarette half-smoked. Steve stared at him in sleepy confusion.

Warren took the cigarette from between his lips and held it out to Steve before his expression fell. “Oh, sorry, your asthma—”

“No, it’s fine,” Steve said. “Go ahead.”

But Warren was already leaning out over the side of the bed, mashing the cigarette into the glass ashtray on the side table. Steve admired the play of muscle under the skin of his back, the curve of his spine. He reached out and ran his hand over Warren’s ribcage. When Warren turned back, he rolled close, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder and an arm around his waist.

“I really am the luckiest guy in the world,” Warren said with a sigh.

“Come on,” Steve said.

“No, really,” Warren said. “I saw the poster for your show and thought there was no way you would really be so—” He ran his hand over Steve’s chest. The attention made Steve flush again, and Warren laughed. “How are you so shy and modest? If I looked like you, I’d have a head the size of the Hindenburg.”

Steve opened his mouth to tell Warren there was nothing wrong with the way he looked, but he still didn’t want to think about Warren’s looks too much—the familiarity of his features.

“Then I talked to you,” Warren continued. “And you’re a nice guy, and then _this_. So yeah, _lucky_.”

Steve rested his hand on Warren’s shoulder. “Then why do you sound kind of sad?”

There was a long pause, and Steve thought maybe he shouldn’t have asked.

“I sound sad?” Warren sighed again. “I shouldn’t. I really am lucky I met you. You gave me a hell of a send-off, and I won’t forget it.”

Unsure of what to say, Steve waited.

“It’s just . . .” Warren pushed closer, tucking his head under Steve’s chin. “I used to have a fella. . . .”

“God, I’m sorry,” Steve said. “Did he—? Was he in Europe or—? Was he—?” Steve desperately pushed Bucky out of his mind.

“No, sorry, he didn’t die.” Warren laughed, but there was no humor in it. “He’s not even a soldier—he’s a little older, and he works at Bethlehem Steel, so he’s not gonna get drafted. But he’s getting married.”

“Oh.” Steve ran his hand own over Warren’s ribs. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine—” But many times Steve had imagined how he would feel when someday Bucky got married and he had to live on his own again. No matter how often he tried to push them away, thoughts of Bucky kept creeping back.

“Yeah,” Warren said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin the mood.”

“You didn’t,” Steve said. “Really.”

But the lazy comfort was gone. After a few more quiet moments, Steve sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “I should let you get some rest. I bet you have to be up early.”

Warren let out a noncommittal hum. “I guess. But I won’t sleep anyway.” His hand trailed from Steve’s shoulder down to his hip, and Steve hesitated. Warren was obviously hoping he would stay. 

Maybe Warren was hoping for a bit of the romance that Steve had ruled out. And there was no reason why Steve couldn’t stay. They were scheduled for two more shows in Baltimore before heading south. He could lounge in bed all night. He didn’t have to be at the theater until the afternoon. They would have time for another go, if they wanted. Maybe Warren hoped to have somebody to see him off in the morning.

Steve turned to look at Warren out of the corner of his eye. Even a glimpse of his profile—his dark hair and his strong jaw—was enough to propel Steve out of the bed. He wasn’t going to put himself through a drawn-out parting. Saying goodbye to Bucky had been awful. He hadn’t even let Steve walk with him to the station. Watching Bucky close the door and disappear—but of course it wouldn’t be the same with Warren. He was a stranger. They’d had a good time tonight, but Steve didn’t owe him anything.

He grabbed his boxers from the floor and pulled them on before reaching for his pants. He didn’t look at Warren again until he was adjusting the knot of his tie—just a quick glance. He hadn’t moved from his sprawl on the bed.

“Thank you,” Steve said, turning to the mirror. “I—” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Warren said.

Steve really looked at him then. He didn’t look upset. Why would he? But he didn’t look happy either, and Steve didn’t like that. So much of their time together had been good, and he didn’t want to end on a sour note. “Warren.”

His eyebrows hitched up. Before when he’d done that, it had been teasing, but now, it made him look skeptical, if not downright contemptuous. But maybe that was just because Steve felt bad for wanting to get out of there. He said Warren’s name again as he strode to the bed. “C’mere.”

Warren’s expression had softened now, and he sat up and let Steve pull him into a kiss, slow and sweet. “Take care of yourself,” Steve said when he pulled away. And Warren was wearing a small smile when Steve crept out into the hallway.

*****

After the night with Warren, Steve waited an entire month. Not that he didn’t think about sex. He did—probably more than before. He knew that a lot of guys were all talk, but even if half of what the guys back home bragged about was lies, it was pretty obvious that they didn’t want what dames seemed to want. So it could be simpler. And the memory of the night with Warren was seared onto Steve’s brain: all the pleasure—maybe more, considering Warren’s enthusiasm—and none of the guilt of leaving a girl behind when the show moved on.

So when they stopped in Chicago for several days, Steve did some careful reconnaissance. A city that big had to have secret places where men of a certain persuasion felt safe, relatively speaking. A bit of patience, even with Steve’s complete lack of skills in espionage, paid off quickly. He found a bar, very dark and smoky, and without even introducing himself ended up in a stiflingly hot back room getting sucked off by a friendly sailor. Steve fled as soon as he realized the guy didn’t expect him to return the favor—he explained with a grin that he’d finished himself off with one hand shoved down his pants.

Another full month passed before Steve worked up the courage to try again. But then it got easier, and he didn’t have to work very hard to convince himself to go out after a show looking for company. A lot of guys liked an anonymous encounter, and Steve learned how to find the places where they gathered. Certain bars and alleys. The dark wooded corners of city parks.

He still didn’t know what to say when he met someone he liked the looks of. But it was easier to joke with a fella than a girl and easier still once he realized that because of the way he looked now, no one cared about the stupid stuff that came out of his mouth. If his new body didn’t feel quite like it was truly his own, he at least learned to use it to his advantage. After a lifetime of being ignored, it was intoxicating to walk into one of those bars and have every head turn in his direction. To have men fawning over him. He’d had attention from women since the serum, of course, but this was different: a frank and distinctly sexual assessment, and Steve was never found wanting. He could have his pick of the best looking men in the room.

It didn’t take him long to realize his eye was drawn by certain things: thick wavy dark hair, sparkling blue eyes, a perfect kissable pair of lips. And he knew why, but he was afraid to look at it too closely. His mind could only brush up against his confusion on the subject before skittering away. _I’ll think about it tomorrow_.

So he tried distraction, throwing himself into experimenting with all types of men, all types of bodies: fair and dark, tall and short, shy and brash, lean and built like a tank. Some were loud in bed, making Steve careful to be silent so no one outside the room would guess there were two men together. Some were shy and tense before and more relaxed after. One guy told Steve about his family once they were through, sharing pictures of his kids. Steve didn’t like it, so from then on he always looked for a wedding ring. Some guys liked kissing as much as Steve did, but some refused. There was one who ducked away when Steve bent his head for a kiss, then spent an eternity licking and sucking at Steve’s asshole—not that Steve complained, but it didn’t seem to make any sense.

Plenty of guys assumed, just like Warren had, that Steve was just a regular guy looking for a little fun without a lot of fuss. Just a suckjob or an anonymous grope. So they were surprised when he pushed past the boundaries they assumed he’d insist on, falling to his knees before they got the chance or guiding their hands to places they wouldn’t have dared to touch. Steve learned he liked surprising them. On nights when he was feeling particularly brave—or maybe particularly stupid—he didn’t even try to be subtle: he walked into a bar, singled someone out almost at random, and leaned down to whisper in his ear, _Take me home and fuck me_. It worked every time, the guy staring at Steve in shock, with blatant lust, then stumbling over his own feet in his rush out the door.

He knew he was being reckless, but one night in Atlanta really drove it home. Steve was on his knees on the damp pavement behind a bar when the guy he was sucking off suddenly pulled away and ran. Steve was grateful, because he’d been too absorbed to notice the approaching sirens. He took a split second to throw open the back door and shout a warning to the bartender inside before taking off himself. And as he made his getaway, the exhilaration he got from his pumping muscles, from his breath filling his lungs—it made him laugh out loud as he sped over the rain-slick sidewalks. He should have been scared but instead felt elated by the strength of his body. He could run a mile like it was nothing, and when he finally slowed, sure that he’d shaken all possible pursuit, his dick was still achingly hard.

So even that narrow escape wasn’t enough to discourage him. It wasn’t like any of the guys he met could say anything without putting themselves at risk too. Steve knew that a scandal would be embarrassing for a whole bunch of important people, but that could work in Steve’s favor: Senator Brandt would probably hush everything up, if Steve were ever caught. And then he’d start being careful. Or stop altogether. It wasn’t like he needed it. And the risk of it was easier to bear than how he felt when he thought about trying again with a woman. 

It was nice, not feeling guilty. It suited Steve just fine that the fellas he went to bed with weren’t looking for anything other than sex. It was easy, both practically speaking—he didn’t have to worry about getting anyone pregnant—and in terms of emotional entanglements. He didn’t have to fake any sentiment, and didn’t have to feel guilty about moving on to the next city without seeing them a second time.

Until he met Charlie.

It was after a show in St. Louis, and Steve signed autographs for almost an hour before the crowd thinned enough for him to lift his head and look around. He caught sight of a shadowy figure half hidden behind one of the lobby’s ornate pillars. Steve’s curiosity was piqued, and he found his gaze wandering back over to that pillar until he assembled a clearer idea of the person peering out at him: he was skinny in the way teenagers were when they shot up with a growth spurt but hadn’t had a chance to fill out yet. He wore a pair of thick, horn-rimmed glasses half covered by the flop of his bangs. He was the kind of guy most people’s eyes skipped over, so Steve made a point of smiling at him. His mouth fell open in surprise, and he darted back behind the pillar. Steve ducked his head to hide his amusement.

After few more autographs, Steve said goodnight to Glen, the assistant stage manager, and when he turned to head back to the dressing room to change out of the costume, the kid was right there, his face pale and his eyes huge behind his glasses.

When Steve saw him closer, he realized the guy wasn’t as young as he’d first thought. He was probably about twenty. “Hi,” Steve said. “Did you want an autograph?” He looked around for Glen, but they were alone in the theater lobby. “Sorry, I think they took all the photographs away.”

The kid’s mouth worked, but no sound came out at first, so he shook his head. His cheeks were turning pink, and he stammered out a few unintelligible syllables. Suddenly, Steve realized why the kid was struggling so much just to talk, and it made him blush slightly himself. He was glad, though, that he’d made a point of being friendly when he’d caught the kid’s eye before, because for all of his embarrassment, he was fighting a smile, pleased to have Steve’s attention.

And Steve felt pleased too. He’d learned that his looks gave him a certain power, but he’d never seen the fact illustrated quite so plainly—this guy couldn’t take his eyes off Steve, and he was breathing heavy just from standing close and talking to him.

“No autograph, huh?” Steve waited until the kid’s eyes were fixed on him. “What did you want then?”

The kid’s blush had started to fade but came back in full force at Steve’s ever-so-slightly suggestive tone. Steve didn’t mean to be cruel, but it satisfied something in him to reduce someone to the stupidly incoherent state he’d experienced himself all too often. 

He took pity on the guy, dropping the slyness and holding out his hand. “My name’s Steve.”

“Ch—Charlie.” He laughed nervously. “I don’t have to call you ‘Captain’?”

Steve smiled, glad to see the kid held onto his sense of humor in spite of his nervousness. Steve leaned close and said, under his breath, “You can call me ‘Captain’ if you want.”

He knew it was lousy as come-ons went, but it was easier to flirt with someone who was even worse at it than he was. And Charlie’s reaction was gratifying—he turned his face away again, but not before Steve saw his smile. His neck and cheek were mottled pink all over again.

“I was thinking about heading out for a drink,” Steve said conversationally. “Maybe you know a good place?”

Charlie hesitated, then nodded.

“I’d love it if you’d join me,” Steve continued. “I spend too much time on my own on this tour.” That wasn’t strictly true, lately, but the fib served its purpose. Charlie’s blush headed into shades of purple.

Steve hurried to change out of his costume, half-convinced that Charlie would have fled by the time he got back to the lobby, but he was there, standing right where Steve had left him. He gave Steve a huge grin when he appeared, as if he’d also expected to be left in the lurch.

The bar Charlie led Steve to was several blocks away, but it was perfect: quiet and lit mostly by tiny oil lamps in the center of each small table. It occurred to Steve as they placed their order that he shouldn’t let the flirtation go on too long. Charlie was a lightweight, and Steve wouldn’t take advantage of him if he was drunk. So as soon as the waiter brought their glasses, Steve held his against Charlie’s—“To a quick victory”—and let his pointer finger stroke the length of Charlie’s before taking a slug of whiskey.

Charlie stared at Steve, open-mouthed before stammering out the toast and taking a sip. Then he stared down into the glass, looking terrified. Steve worried that he’d simply come on too strong until he felt Charlie’s hand grip his knee under the table. Charlie’d been afraid of his own daring, not Steve’s brazen flirting. Steve smiled and took another gulp of his drink.

Steve leaned in close, and Charlie’s eyes fluttered closed. The kid didn’t have a subtle bone in his body. But his eagerness—his obvious arousal—was going straight to Steve’s head. He leaned in. “I think we both know why we’re here.” Steve pulled back as Charlie’s head snapped up, then moved close again to whisper in Charlie’s ear. “You could come back to my room. I’m staying in a hotel nearby.”

The suggestion made Charlie’s face go white, and Steve realized he was panicking.

“It’s okay,” Steve said. But his confidence was waning. It had been a long time since he had a name to go with a body. Not to mention he’d never brought someone back to his own hotel—the girls were staying in rooms scattered all throughout the building, and some of them were real night owls. Then he remembered his first time, with Warren, and figured it was as good a plan as any. He threw back his head and emptied his glass.

“Here’s the plan: I’m gonna go ahead of you. You finish your drink—take maybe five minutes? The hotel is a few blocks down that way. The yellow brick one near the drug store. Do you know it?”

Charlie nodded, staring down at his hands on the table.

“Just take your time,” Steve said. “Look like you know what you’re doing. No one will bother you,” Steve reassured him. “They won’t pay any attention. No one will suspect if you just play it cool.”

A huge gulp made Charlie’s Adam’s apple bob. He looked petrified.

“It’s not too late to back out,” Steve said kindly.

Charlie’s face showed a different kind of panic—maybe he was afraid Steve himself was going to back out. “No,” Charlie said decidedly. “No, I’m not going to change my mind.”

“Just take the elevator straight up to the third floor. Turn right and go to room 319. You got it?”

Grabbing his glass, Charlie took a huge gulp.

“I’ll be ready for you.”

Charlie looked up at him then, his eyes hungry. The force of his gaze made Steve pause.

“I mean I’ll be looking out for you,” Steve said. “You don’t even have to knock. I’ll open the door right away, and you come in before anyone sees.”

But when Steve opened the door for him, already stripped down to just his trousers and his undershirt, Charlie stood slack-jawed in the corridor, unmoving. Steve had to grab a handful of his jacket and tug him inside.

Charlie shook himself. “Sorry. I—sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Steve said. 

Charlie didn’t venture further into the room—just stood right inside the door staring at his shoes.

“You can still change your mind.”

“No!” Charlie finally met Steve’s gaze. “No, I really want to—” His face turned bright red, and he looked away.

“I really want to too,” Steve said.

Charlie blushed a deeper shade of red, but he smiled.

“C’mere.” Steve was afraid to approach. Charlie was so skittish, he might bolt.

He looked up, and Steve held out a hand. Charlie took it, and Steve used the grasp to tug him gently closer, until there was only a fraction of an inch between them. Charlie’s chin was still ducked down, and Steve nudged at it with one finger until he lifted his head.

“Can I kiss you?” Steve asked.

Charlie’s mouth fell open, and he snapped it shut before nodding jerkily and shutting his eyes tightly. Looking down at his face, Steve hesitated. He was so darn _young_ , and he looked like he was waiting for someone to slug him rather than kiss him. Maybe this was a bad idea.

Charlie opened his eyes, studied Steve’s face, then bowed his head again. “It’s okay if you change your mind too,” he said mournfully.

Steve knew exactly what was going through Charlie’s mind. How many times had Steve himself felt like he wasn’t tall enough, wasn’t big enough, wasn’t good enough?

“No.” Steve pulled Charlie’s glasses off his face. The lenses were thick and heavy—probably what saved him from the draft—but underneath, his eyes were clear and green. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

Charlie was watching him uncertainly. After Steve set the glasses on the bedside table, he came slowly back to Charlie and wrapped one arm around his waist. His breath came fast and shaky, but he didn’t hesitate to tilt up his chin when Steve bent for a kiss. His mouth was frozen under Steve’s at first, but then he began to mimic the movement of Steve’s lips, and before Steve would have dared it, Charlie poked out his tongue and pushed it into Steve’s mouth.

Steve tightened his arm around Charlie’s body, pulling him closer, but his hands were wedged between them, fisted in the front of Steve’s undershirt. A few more kisses, then Charlie pulled away, panting.

“Can I—?” Charlie’s eyes darted down to the front of Steve’s uniform trousers. “I want—”

Steve kissed him to hide his smile. He didn’t want Charlie to think he was making fun of him.

“Anything,” Steve said.

Charlie’s eyes grew wide, then were drawn back to where Steve’s dick was prodding at the front of his pants. He reached out with one hand and ran his fingers lightly down the length of it. The gesture was slow and tentative, so Steve was surprised when Charlie’s fingers started working his belt buckle, then his fly, and startled when Charlie fell to his knees. He glanced up at Steve once before tugging his boxers down, staring when Steve’s dick sprang free a few inches from his face.

Charlie wasn’t daunted for long. He leaned in and licked at the tip. It looked like he was sampling a new ice cream flavor, and Steve bit his lip so he wouldn’t smile again. But the next moment Charlie lunged forward, taking Steve deep into his mouth and making him gasp. He started to move, made a loud slurping noise, and cringed, but it was sweetly endearing. Steve found his hand gently cupping Charlie’s jaw as he worked his head up and down.

The way Charlie’s eyes were screwed shut—his face a caricature of concentration and earnest effort. Steve had to close his own eyes to block out the sight. He must have looked just like that, his first time. All nerves and clumsy eagerness. When Charlie pulled back to catch his breath, Steve reached down, grabbing Charlie’s arm to pull him to his feet.

“Sorry,” Charlie said, frowning. “Was it—? I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“It was good,” Steve said. “Really good.” 

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

“Yeah?” Steve pulled Charlie in for a kiss and tugged open the first button of his shirt.

“I saw two fellas in an alley once. Doing that.” Charlie ran his hand up the length of Steve’s dick, then drew it away again, clearly embarrassed. “I watched them, and it made me want to—but—” Charlie shrugged. “It was kind of amazing and kind of terrible all at the same time.”

Still working on Charlie’s buttons, Steve smiled. “Let’s try for amazing and skip the terrible, okay?” He got the last button open and pulled the shirttail out from where it was tucked into Charlie’s pants.

Charlie took a skittish step back. “Should we turn out the light?”

“If you want,” Steve said. “But I’d like to be able to look at you.”

Charlie let out a nervous laugh as Steve bent down to kiss him again. When Steve pulled away, Charlie raised a tentative hand. “Can I—?” He gave the hem of Steve’s undershirt a tug.

Steve smiled and raised his arms to let Charlie pull the shirt off over his head. He had to help—Charlie’s hands were shaking. Steve tossed the shirt onto the chair in the corner and turned back to find Charlie’s eyes sweeping over his chest, and Steve let him look. It didn’t make him feel shy anymore to be admired. His body seemed as much a costume as the stars and stripes.

After a few minutes, however, it became clear that on his own, Charlie would never get things moving again.

“C’mere.” Steve held out a hand, and Charlie smiled shyly and grabbed it. After another kiss, Steve pulled Charlie’s shirt off his shoulders. He could tell Charlie felt self-conscious, standing there in his clinging, dingy-white undershirt.

So Steve knelt in front of him and slowly pushed the undershirt up so that he could slide his lips over Charlie’s flat stomach, skimming one hand up over his ribs. His chest was nearly hairless. He let out a gasp when Steve’s fingers brushed his nipple. Charlie’s dick was straining at his fly, and Steve bent lower to mouth at it through the fabric. Charlie made a choked off sound, then let out a low moan. Steve pulled away to unbuckle his belt. Looking up, he saw that Charlie’s eyes were closed, and he held his hands out awkwardly in front of him, as if he didn’t know what to do with them.

“Okay?” Steve whispered.

Startled, Charlie jumped, then stared down at Steve. He nodded, but his knees were trembling.

“Come on.” Steve rose to his feet and put a gentle hand on Charlie’s back to nudge him toward the bed. Steve thought he would sit on the edge, but he climbed right up and lay flat on the mattress, gazing up at Steve with nervous expectation.

Steve finished with the buckle and pulled the belt free, then bent to kiss a trail up over Charlie’s stomach and ribcage, shoving his undershirt up out of the way as he went. He tugged at Charlie’s hand, making him sit up to pull off the undershirt, then reached for the button at his waistband. Charlie didn’t exactly shy away, but his shoulders were hunched, his chin ducked close to his chest. A glance at the front of his pants proved that he was still eager, so why did he look so uncomfortable? Was he still feeling self-conscious?

“You want me to get the light?” Steve offered.

“Do you mind?”

Steve pressed his lips to Charlie’s, then smiled. “Not at all.” He rolled off the bed to turn off the lamp on the dresser. When he turned back to the bed, Charlie was watching him, biting his lip. It was exhilarating, being looked at with such obvious desire, and Steve shoved his pants off with one quick movement so that he could feel Charlie’s gaze over his whole body. He slowly approached the bed and gestured to the lamp on the bedside table. “You sure you want that light out?”

Charlie blushed, and his eyes snapped from Steve’s crotch up to his face. He didn’t answer the question though, so Steve left the light on and knelt on the bed, again reaching for the front of Charlie’s pants. He didn’t shrink away this time as Steve tugged at the button, and Steve leaned low for a kiss as he opened the fly and slid his hand inside.

“Aw, jeez,” Charlie breathed out when Steve got his hand around his dick. “Aw, that’s—oh, God. Aw, jeez.”

Charlie’s rambling made Steve smile, so rather than kiss his lips and maybe shut him up, he bent to nibble at his earlobe. Charlie’s hips jerked up to meet Steve’s hand, and Steve pushed his own hips closer, pressing his erection to Charlie’s thigh. Charlie groaned at the contact.

Steve let go of Charlie’s dick just long enough to shove his pants down to his thighs. He only wanted room for his hand to move better, but Charlie took the hint and wriggled out of his clothes completely. Naked, he seemed less skinny somehow. He wasn’t all sharp elbows and bony knees like Steve had been. He had a bit of muscle on his frame—wiry instead of scrawny. Steve didn’t want to make him feel embarrassed again from too much scrutiny, so he once again wrapped his hand firmly around Charlie’s dick.

“Aw, jeez. Yeah.”

Steve’s hand continued with slow strokes as he moved lower, mouthing at Charlie’s collarbone and one nipple.

“Aw, that’s good,” Charlie babbled. “Please, that’s so good.”

Steve wondered if Charlie’d ever had someone else’s hand on him, even a girl. Maybe not, since the feeling seemed to genuinely surprise him. It made Steve want to surprise him with other new sensations. He slid further down the bed and pressed his lips to Charlie’s jutting hipbone.

He glanced up and caught Charlie’s eye—he was watching Steve from under hooded lids. Then Steve bent to wrap his lips carefully around the tip of Charlie’s dick, relishing the shuddering gasp Charlie drew in. Then he seemed to hold his breath, but gentle suction started him talking again.

“Aw, jeez, that’s—aw, jeez.”

Steve fought off a smile. He’d gotten good at this, if the reactions he got were any indication, so he kept his movements slow, wanting Charlie to last.

“Oh, wow,” Charlie panted. “Aw, jeez.”

Not stopping the bobbing of his head, Steve settled himself more comfortably in the bed. Charlie spread his legs to make room for Steve between them, and Steve thought that this, together with Charlie’s enthusiasm for everything else they’d tried so far, was kind of an invitation. He leaned on one elbow and moved his other hand up to cup Charlie’s balls, massaging them lightly with his fingers as Charlie groaned.

Steve lifted his head and whispered, “Okay?”

“Yes, oh God, yes,” Charlie answered in a rush.

Steve let his fingers inch lower. “You’ll tell me if I do something you don’t like?”

“There’s nothing—” Charlie broke off in surprise as Steve’s fingers slid between the cheeks of his ass.

“Charlie?” Steve didn’t move his hand away, but he did stop moving his fingers.

“Yeah,” Charlie huffed out. “Yeah, it’s good.”

Steve started moving again, brushing his fingertips across Charlie’s asshole. “I don’t know how much you know about this. . . .”

“I don’t—I mean, I know—” Charlie’s words deteriorated into a long, low moan as Steve rubbed less gently. “Aw jeez, that’s good.”

Steve ducked his head and took Charlie’s dick into his mouth again, sucking hard. Charlie’s hips jerked up, choking Steve, but he didn’t pull away. He breathed carefully through his nose and let Charlie thrust upward a few times, stroking with a bit more pressure and letting one fingertip nudge inside.

Charlie froze, gasping. “Oh, I—I’ve never—Do you want—?”

Steve had never fucked anyone before, but he wasn’t about to tell Charlie that. He wanted to try it now, and it seemed like Charlie would be willing. He pulled away to crawl up the bed. Charlie’s cheeks were flushed, and his hair was plastered to his forehead. He twined his fingers in Steve’s hair, pulling him down for a kiss. When Steve lifted his head, Charlie was grinning. 

“I want to,” Steve said. “But there’s lots of other stuff we can do if that’s too—”

“Okay,” Charlie said, interrupting Steve.

“Yeah?”

Rather than answer, Charlie craned up for another kiss, and Steve let his hand glide down Charlie’s body, giving his dick a few lazy strokes until he was groaning. Then Steve pulled away—he had Vaseline in his suitcase.

Charlie grabbed at his shoulder. “I really want to.”

“Okay,” Steve said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’ll be right back.”

It only took a moment for Steve to grab the jar, but by the time he was turning back to the bed, Charlie was watching him hungrily, one stroking hand on his own dick.

“Wow.” Steve’s eyebrows shot up. Maybe Charlie wasn’t the most physically attractive guy he’d gone to bed with, but his enthusiasm sure was irresistible. “Don’t finish without me.”

Charlie snatched his hand away. “Sorry! Sorry, I just—I can’t—”

Steve smiled as he climbed back onto the bed. “It’s okay. I like it.”

Still, Charlie looked sheepish.

“Really,” Steve insisted. “I like it. I just want to help, that’s all.”

Finally Charlie met Steve’s eyes, his smile returning. Steve bent to kiss him, struggling to get the lid off the Vaseline one-handed. He dipped into the jar and coated his fingers.

Charlie froze again when Steve’s slippery fingers moved between his legs, but he quickly relaxed, groaning as Steve rubbed in teasing circles until he felt he could venture pressing inside with one finger, slowly, watching carefully to gauge Charlie’s reaction. His muscles tensed briefly, and his brow furrowed, as if he were trying to figure something out. But he didn’t look unhappy, so Steve pushed deeper.

He’d learned about what made this feel so amazing since Warren had given him that first surprising practical demonstration, and he sought that particular spot with his fingertips now, but he couldn’t quite reach. Instead, he worked on spreading the Vaseline around as much as he could to make things easier. Once he was sure everything was nicely slick, he pulled his hand away, then pushed back in, adding a second finger.

Charlie gasped, then moaned, but even after several moments of slow, easy gliding movements in and out, his body remained tense. Steve remembered his own fears when Warren pushed inside him—at first, Steve had carefully prepared himself for pain, which had taken away most of the pleasure.

He kept up the gentle strokes with his fingers but settled himself on the mattress next to Charlie, folding his other arm to rest his head on. “I really think you’ll like it.”

Charlie’s answer was barely louder than a breath. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Steve said.

“You’ve done this?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Charlie shrugged awkwardly. “You’re just so—”

Steve stopped the motion of his hand, wondering if he should pull away, but Charlie hooked his heel over Steve’s leg as if to keep him close.

“So what?” Steve said.

“I don’t know. Good at being in charge. I just figured because I’m a little guy, everyone would assume . . .”

He let the idea trail off, but Steve understood his worry. When you were small, people sometimes treated you as less of a man, and if Charlie was afraid he’d always be pushed into a certain role in bed, he might be hesitant to begin that way.

“Hey, it doesn’t matter what we do,” Steve said. “Honest. If you’d rather do me, I would—” He cut himself off when Charlie groaned and started rocking his hips. “Charlie?”

“Would you—?” Charlie gulped for air before he could continue. “Would you really let me do that?”

“Yeah, I like it. If you’d rather—”

“No,” Charlie said. “I want—I mean if it really doesn’t matter—” His hips twitched again. “God, please, I just need—”

“Okay.” Steve scissored and twisted his fingers. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Charlie panted. “God, please. Let’s do it.”

“We will,” Steve said. “As soon as you’re ready.”

Charlie’s answering groan sounded frustrated, but he didn’t argue. The restless shifting of his hips stilled, letting Steve work him open until he could ease in a third finger. Again, he watched Charlie carefully, but there was no sign of distress. His head lolled to one side—he looked almost drunk—and Steve found himself grinning. Steve had been lucky his first time. Not all men were as kind as Warren, and though Steve, with his new strength and size, had never felt skittish or afraid, thinking of Charlie at the hands of someone more forceful and less patient made him cringe.

“Good?” Steve asked.

“Mmm.”

“Good.” Steve pressed his lips to Charlie’s bony shoulder. Steve hesitated before whispering, “You ready?”

Charlie’s eyes sprang open. He stared up at the ceiling for several long moments before he answered. “I think so.”

Steve didn’t withdraw his fingers right away. He dipped his head for another slow kiss and resumed his slow strokes until the slight tension that had come into Charlie’s body unwound. Charlie draped one arm around Steve’s neck after he settled on top of him. Steve grabbed Charlie’s left leg, directing its movements until he hooked his heel over the back of Steve’s thigh. Steve lined himself up and tried to push gently, but the angle wasn’t right.

“Sorry,” Charlie murmured. “I don’t know how to—”

“It’s okay.” Steve kissed him again. “There’s no rush.”

Charlie startled Steve with a bark of laughter. “Speak for yourself. I’m pretty damn impatient.”

Steve lifted his head to grin down at Charlie, who wrapped all his limbs around Steve and pulled him closer. Steve had to move slightly away, pulling out of the circle of Charlie’s arms so that he could snake one hand between their bodies. His fingers were coated with Vaseline—everything was—so it was hard to figure out exactly where to aim.

“Is that—?” Even as Steve asked, the tip of his dick slipped inside, and Charlie gasped.

Steve froze, took a deep breath, and canted his hips ever so slightly, pushing just a little deeper.

It was hot. So hot and tight—tighter than with girls, and Steve bit his lip to keep from coming too soon. It was hard to go slow when his body was screaming at him to plunge into that exquisite heat, but he wouldn’t rush.

Charlie whimpered, and Steve froze. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” But the deep breath he drew in was shaky. “No, not really.”

“Should I stop?”

“No! No, please.” Charlie’s feet and legs shifted restlessly.

“Here, wait.” Steve pulled out slowly, and Charlie let out a disappointed _Oh_. “Let me just—” Steve settled on the mattress next to Charlie, pushing him onto his side and spooning up behind him. “Maybe this way?”

“I don’t—” Charlie grabbed Steve’s hand where it rested on his chest. “I don’t know.”

“Let’s try it.” Steve pulled his hand away from Charlie’s and moved it down to rub his dick. Charlie sighed, and his entire frame went pliant.

“There.” Steve kissed the back of Charlie’s neck. “There you go.”

Charlie moaned, and when Steve pushed his dick against him, he moved his hips back to meet him. Steve let go of Charlie’s dick and propped up on one elbow to get himself lined up. When the tip of his dick slid inside, again his instinct was to move fast, thrust hard, but Charlie was still quiet.

Keeping his hips carefully still, Steve wrapped his hand around Charlie’s dick. His muscles had grown tense, but as Steve’s fingers stroked him—slowly at first but faster as he relaxed again—he sighed and inched his hips backward. Steve’s hand lost its rhythm as Charlie pressed back onto him, leaving him breathless. 

Steve froze. Even only halfway in, the feeling was intense, but Steve wanted it to last. He refocused his attention on Charlie, trying to go slow. But as Charlie bucked forward into Steve’s grasp, his muscles clenched around Steve’s dick, and as Charlie moved back, he pushed Steve deeper inside him.

“Aw, jeez,” Charlie breathed out as his hips rocked faster. Suddenly he let out a hiss, and his fingers wrapped around Steve’s. In his own excitement, Steve had been gripping Charlie too tightly. Charlie gently tugged Steve’s hand away, wrapping that arm across his chest, then pushed back steadily until his body was flush against Steve’s.

They paused for a moment like that, both breathless. Then Charlie’s muscles tensed, tightening around Steve’s dick and making him groan.

“Steve?” Charlie said. “Is that good?”

Steve nodded frantically, his cheek hard against the side of Charlie’s head.

Charlie did it again—an unbearably good pressure, and Steve forgot to be careful, thrusting hard against Charlie’s hips and pushing little panting noises out of him with each impact. Steve knew he wouldn’t last much longer and reached for Charlie again, careful this time not to grip too tightly. Charlie’s dick jerked in Steve’s hand after only a few strokes, his limbs tensing, his body clamping hard on Steve inside him. Steve let himself go—managing only a few more hard thrusts before he came, muffling his cries in Charlie’s hair.

Charlie was letting out short huffs of breath, somewhere between sighs and gasps, and he gripped Steve’s arm across his chest, his fingers digging into the flesh. Slowly, he relaxed, leaning back into Steve’s body.

“Oh, wow,” Charlie panted out. “That was—”

“Yeah?” Steve felt oddly proud. He hadn’t exactly known what he was doing.

“Is it always like that?” Charlie said. “I mean I—aw, hell, I guess it’s pretty obvious I’ve never done this before.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured that out.” Steve turned his head just enough to press a kiss to the top of Charlie’s head. “Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter to me.” Actually, Steve had liked it—showing Charlie how things worked, teaching him—but he didn’t know how to explain that without making Charlie feel worse about his lack of experience. “And you’re right, it was really something.” Steve’s sweaty chest stuck to the skin of Charlie’s back, pulling unpleasantly for a moment as he rolled away to stretch.

“So is it always like that?” Charlie asked again.

Steve gave it honest consideration before he answered. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s always good, but I think maybe that was better than most of the time.”

Moving with surprising energy after his gasping exhaustion moments before, Charlie spun around to face Steve. He was smiling brightly. “Yeah?” 

Steve returned his grin. “It’s not like I’m an expert.”

“No?” Charlie’s smile had turned teasing. He ducked under Steve’s arm, put his head on his shoulder, and threw one arm around his waist. “Sure seems like you know what you’re doing to me.”

Steve’s hand settled on Charlie’s shoulder as he pressed closer. He shivered, so Steve pulled the covers up with one foot until he could grab them, then covered them both. The sheets were chilly but quickly warmed against their bodies.

Steve yawned.

“I guess it’s late,” Charlie whispered.

“Hm, I guess.” But Steve didn’t feel like moving.

“Can I stay?”

“If you want.” Steve craned his neck back until he could look down at Charlie’s face. “You gotta be sneakier when you leave though, all right? The maids start pretty early.”

Charlie blushed, but he was still smiling. Steve felt a surge of affection for him and rubbed his arm. “No one’s going to worry about you if you don’t come home?”

Charlie’s brow furrowed. “I don’t live with my parents. I’m not a kid.”

Steve held up one hand in surrender. “Okay, okay. Let’s get some sleep.”

Charlie grinned at him, and Steve stretched one arm out to turn off the light.

After a few moments of silence, Charlie trailed his fingers down Steve’s chest and said, “Thanks, Steve.”

“For what?”

“For everything.” He pressed close and tucked his head under Steve’s chin. “Just for being nice.”

*****

“Wow,” Charlie gasped. “ _Wow_.”

Steve panted with laughter.

Charlie was sprawled, boneless, on Steve’s back. He’d woken Steve with insistent kisses, which Steve had at first resisted. He’d never spent the night with a fella, much less had a second round, and it seemed dangerous. But it had been early still—no light peeking in around the curtains yet—and Charlie’s eagerness was infectious. As soon as he’d hinted, with his hand roaming up Steve’s leg and squeezing his ass, Steve had found it hard to find reasons to pull himself out of bed.

Because Charlie had been nervous about getting Steve ready, he’d done it himself with Charlie gaping at him all the while. It had given Steve a hell of a charge, seeing the naked lust on Charlie’s face, his dick straining up. He’d started to touch himself but had to stop for fear he’d finish too early.

“That was—” Charlie took a huge breath. “That was unbelievable.”

Steve tried to look over his shoulder at Charlie, but he was so much shorter than Steve—his head was resting between Steve’s shoulder blades. His hands were still tucked under Steve’s armpits. He’d clutched at Steve’s shoulders as he’d fucked him, crying out loud enough to make Steve cringe.

Charlie pulled his hands out from under Steve and pushed himself up just enough to roll off and flop on the mattress beside him.

“I think I like this even better,” Charlie said. “Last night I didn’t think _anything_ could possibly be better.”

Steve thought he liked sex better this way too, but he felt too shy to admit it. Maybe it had just been concern for Charlie that had made last night less of a complete release than usual. But also it wasn’t the same: he genuinely liked the feeling of being filled, stroked from the inside, a hand on his dick—so much sensation, wonderfully overwhelming. At any rate, last night had been nothing like he felt now: totally at ease, every muscle in his body warm and loose. He’d have to be careful not to fall back to sleep. He lifted his head enough to look at the clock on the bedside table and groaned.

“What’s wrong?” Charlie asked. He ran his hand over Steve’s back.

“Getting late,” Steve said. “The maids were in the hallway before seven yesterday.”

Charlie’s hand stopped moving. Steve turned to look at him. His expression was mournful.

“I guess I gotta go, then, huh?”

Steve pushed himself up on his elbows and leaned over for a kiss. “Better safe than sorry.”

“You’re right.” Charlie studied Steve for a moment. “Maybe I could come back tonight.”

Though he tried to keep his expression neutral, Steve knew his alarm must have been obvious. Charlie’s chin ducked down—he was hiding his face.

“That would be nice,” Steve said. “But I’ve got two shows today. This afternoon and tonight. And we’re leaving at the crack of dawn tomorrow.”

A nod was the only answer. Charlie gathered his clothes and dressed without looking at Steve, and he didn’t speak again. Though just before opening the door, Steve grabbed him and kissed him one last time, and he wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck and kissed him back.

Still, it left Steve feeling like a heel. He felt even worse when Charlie showed up in the lobby after the evening show while audience members were still mobbing the autograph table. Charlie hid behind his column again, peeking out now and then. Steve did his best to ignore him until the crowd thinned, then asked Glen if he could skip out early. He’d never asked before, always staying as long as there was anyone left wanting to talk to him or take a picture, but there were no kids waiting this late on a school night.

After Steve had changed out of his costume, he headed out to the lobby, walking briskly. He didn’t slow his steps as he walked past Charlie’s column, just hissed at him to follow. There was a small park across the street, dark and deserted, and Steve headed through the gate. Charlie came and stood right in front of Steve, looking up at him.

“Sorry,” Charlie said. “I know you said you have to get up early.”

“I do. I’m sorry.”

Then they just stared at one another, the hope in Charlie’s eyes gradually dimming. Steve didn’t know what else to say. _This isn’t how it’s supposed to work_ was the only thing that came to mind. He almost warned Charlie to be more careful, but Charlie hadn’t really done anything wrong.

The night before, Steve had been so pleased with himself: he’d been patient and gentle with Charlie’s body. However, he hadn’t done a thing to protect Charlie’s heart. It hadn’t even occurred to him that Charlie might think it would mean anything.

Steve felt sorry for the guy. And genuinely guilty. But relief far outweighed any other emotion when Charlie turned and walked away down the path, his head hanging. Steve had always thought of himself as a good person, a kind person. But lately he didn’t seem to feel much of anything. Any hint of real connection—like the affection he’d felt for Charlie—just made him that much more desperate to escape. Steve had sought physical pleasure and tried to shut down his heart—maybe he’d succeeded too well.

*AND*

Steve surveyed the scene in the trees around him. He’d hardly known how to respond when everyone had looked to _him_ to make decisions. He was glad to help the others, of course, reminding himself that their lives were worth no less than Bucky’s, but his plan had gone only so far as finding Bucky and getting him the hell out of there. Now, everyone seemed to think he was in charge.

The flood of energy he’d felt, driven by fear and anger, had drained away, and Steve was exhausted. It was the first time since the serum that he’d felt genuinely tired. He wasn’t the only one walking around in a daze. The others were stunned: captured, worked half to death, then a rescue that plunged them into an unexpected battle against weapons straight out of a B movie, followed by a desperate march.

They were better soldiers than Steve though, or maybe just used to following vague orders, because things were getting done. One group was scheduling a rotation for a watch, and another was doling out what few rations they had, though most of the men were too tired to care about their empty bellies. They half fell to the ground and slept where they landed. Steve was more than ready to follow suit, as soon as he found Bucky.

“Hey, Cap.”

Steve turned and found himself face to face with Dugan’s whiskers.

“You looking for Barnes?”

“Yeah, you know where he is?”

Dugan jerked his head to the left and started walking, leading Steve to one of the science fiction tanks they’d taken.

“Is he inside?” Steve asked.

Grimacing, Dugan shook his head and pointed underneath.

“He’s under there?” Steve crouched peered in, but he couldn’t see anything in the shadows.

“Hey,” Dugan called up. “Toss me one of them blankets.”

Someone on top of the tank dropped a blanket into Dugan’s waiting hands, and he gave it to Steve. But he didn’t let go, instead using it to pull Steve closer and whisper, “I think he’s in a really bad way.”

Steve couldn’t answer, but he nodded and immediately bent to crawl into the shadows. The vehicle was even bigger than Steve had thought. He crawled ahead a few yards, awkward with the blanket tucked under one arm, and found only empty space.

“Hey, Buck?”

Looking over his shoulder, he could see Dugan’s boots, like he was standing guard next to where Steve had ducked under the tank. Steve’s worry intensified. It seemed like it would take a lot to make Dugan twitchy. After waiting a few minutes for his eyes to get used to the darkness, Steve gave up: night was falling, and the size of the tank meant no light made it in this far.

“Bucky? It’s me. Where are you, pal?”

Steve went still to listen. He heard a scuffle of movement over to his left, so he headed in that direction, stretching one hand out in front of him until his fingers met the soft wool of Bucky’s sweater. He sat down next to Bucky and shifted close to run a hand over his shoulders.

“You okay?” Steve said. “You hurt?” His hand traveled up Bucky’s neck, over his head, then down to skim over his spine.

A memory flashed into Steve’s mind: sliding his hands down a similarly strong back to clench his fingers in the fabric of a wool uniform, his lips parted by an insistent tongue. Steve gave a guilty start and shook off the image.

Bucky was hugging his knees, and his head was ducked down, as if to hide his face from Steve, even in the pitch black. He was shivering. Steve pulled off his coat and tried to stuff Bucky’s arms into the sleeves. “Come on, pal, let’s get you warmed up.”

“Not—not cold,” Bucky said through chattering teeth.

“Not cold? Well, you’re shivering like crazy.”

“Can’t stop.”

“I think you’ll feel better when you warm up, even if you don’t feel cold.” Steve got the coat fastened and worked on getting the blanket wrapped around Bucky’s legs.

“You—you need—” Bucky’s shoulders convulsed under Steve’s hands. “I’ve got the jacket. You should—you—”

“I’m fine. I don’t get cold like I used to.”

“Steve—”

“We’ll share, okay?” Sharing body heat would warm Bucky up faster anyway. 

After gently shoving at Bucky’s chest until he lay back, Steve settled on the ground, shoved up close, arranged the blanket around the both of them, then wrapped his arm around Bucky’s back. He didn’t object—which was worrisome in itself—just burrowed closer with his head tucked under Steve’s chin. One of his hands settled on Steve’s chest.

“Steve—” Bucky burst into laughter, though it had a hysterical edge to it. “Steve, you’re _huge_.”

“Yeah, I guess. I’ve gotten used to it, mostly.” But being with Bucky made it strange all over again. Every time he looked at Bucky, he felt like he was standing near the bottom of a staircase and needed to take one more step down to join Bucky on solid ground.

Bucky’s body gave a particularly violent shudder, and Steve tightened his arms around him.

“It’s kind of strange,” Steve said. “I forget about it sometimes. Like when I wake up in the morning. But then I realize how easy it is to breathe. And nothing hurts. And I don’t get cold anymore.”

“G—good thing too.” Bucky had to force the words out between his chattering teeth. “We’d both be shivering.”

“But I’m always hungry. I eat a like a horse now—you won’t believe it.”

“What—” Bucky broke off, took a shuddering breath, then tried again. “What do you mean? You always ate a lot, for a little guy.”

“Nah, you ain’t seen nothing yet.” Steve laid on a thick Brooklyn accent when he said it, trying to be funny, and Bucky’s breathing in Steve’s ear turned into a panting laugh.

“God, Steve, I really can’t believe it. You’re _here_. I thought I must be dreaming.”

Bucky’s fingers gripped a handful of Steve’s shirt—he was still wearing his costume, but he didn’t want to explain all of that now.

“No, it’s real, Buck.” Steve’s arms pulled Bucky closer without him meaning for it to happen. “I know it seems crazy, but—”

Hissing whispers next to the tank interrupted Steve and made Bucky jump. Steve craned his neck up and saw that Dugan’s boots had been joined by another pair.

“It’s okay,” Steve said. “Just some of the guys on watch talking.”

Bucky nodded, and his muscles relaxed.

Steve started talking again, hoping to distract Bucky from whatever was keeping him so jittery. “You know something? I haven’t been sick—not once. And my hearing’s better. My eyesight too. After the—” Steve broke off, not knowing what word would best describe his metamorphosis. “Afterward, they weren’t quite sure what to do with me at first. I had some time in New York, just waiting. I spent a whole day in the Met. I didn’t leave until they kicked me out, and then I went back again first thing the next morning. All the paintings looked so different. The _colors_.”

Bucky’s tremors were lessening, but Steve didn’t stop.

“Part of me wants to just dive in, you know? Start to paint with all those new colors, but I’m not sure where to start. I guess it would have been hard to work with paint anyway, with all the traveling I’ve been doing, so I’ve been sticking with good old pencil. But I’ve gotten better—all that practice.”

Bucky’s breathing came slow and even, and Steve lowered his voice to a whisper. “I filled three whole sketchbooks. Can you imagine that? There was a lot of time on the train with nothing to do. I sent them home though, so you’ll have to wait to see those. I brought a brand new one over here. I’ll show you when we get back to camp.” He wondered if he could follow through on that promise though. Phillips would surely have a few choice words. Could a guy be court-martialed if he’d never been a regular soldier? “You gotta let me do a new portrait of you. We can send it home to your folks.”

Certain that Bucky had finally given in to his exhaustion, Steve fell silent. He pressed his cheek to the top of Bucky’s head. He felt too exhausted to form anything like a coherent prayer, but he sent out a wave of desperate gratitude and figured it would serve. But he shouldn’t have let his guard down, even for that split second, because a tidal wave of emotion crashed over him. Confusion and desire.

Ever since he’d broken those straps off Bucky and pulled him off that table, Steve had avoided thinking about it. It hadn’t even been that hard. He had months of practice, after all. _I’ll think about it tomorrow_. But lying there with Bucky in his arms, it was impossible to ignore.

Steve had thought he’d figured everything out—how to play with his new strength and stamina and looks. He’d been so certain he was in complete control: turning off his emotions so that he could indulge without guilt. But he hadn’t shut down his heart, he’d given it away long ago. It had happened so slowly that he hadn’t even noticed.

But Steve was ashamed of himself. Not because of what he felt for Bucky—that was probably the cleanest, purest thing he’d ever felt in his life. And it was a relief to own up to it, if only in his own mind. No, Steve felt ashamed because he’d been acting like a stupid kid. He’d spent so much time fooling around, reckless, simply because he was too scared to face how he really felt. With Bucky so far away, knowing he could do nothing to keep him safe. In a way it was worse now, knowing what Bucky’d been through. And not just him, all the soldiers over here. They’d been fighting and suffering while Steve had it easy.

What would Bucky say, if he knew? Bucky trusted Steve, and he wanted to be there to offer comfort, but instead of worrying about Bucky, he was fighting off arousal—still selfish. And the rescue had been selfish too: desperately wanting to get Bucky to safety, thinking only of him and not the hundreds of other men—almost resenting them for being there. The things he’d done to get to Bucky, without hesitation. Since they started marching, he hadn’t let himself think about the adrenaline-fueled charge through the factory, but now the memories flooded in, bringing a wave of nausea. 

Steve made himself move slowly, gently untangling himself from Bucky, who stirred but didn’t quite wake. Steve thought being upright and out in the fresh air would help, but the second he was out from under the tank, his guts lurched, and he dashed into the brush to vomit. He leaned heavily with one hand on a tree until his rebellious stomach was under control, then walked back on unsteady legs.

When Steve emerged from the shadows under the branches, Dugan was there. Without a word, he offered a canteen. Steve rinsed his mouth, took a few deep gulps of the tinny-tasting water, and handed it back. “Thanks.”

“Barnes told me about his buddy from home,” Dugan said quietly. “But maybe he was talking about another Steve?”

“No, he meant me. I’ve changed a little.”

Dugan chuckled. It made Steve feel better, but only for a moment, because next Dugan said. “This was your first time, huh? Back at the factory? The first time you’ve ever—”

Steve rushed to interrupt. “I don’t know. There’s no way to know.” He thought about the sounds he’d heard: bones snapping and cut-off screams. He knew, all right. He’d killed those men, and he didn’t even know how many. But he didn’t want to think about it. 

Dugan was kind. “I guess not,” he said, then jerked his head at the tank treads. “He okay?”

“He will be,” Steve said with more confidence than he felt. “But I’d better—”

Dugan took a hurried step back. “Yeah.”

Steve crawled back into the pitch darkness. Bucky was awake again and trembling. Both of his hands fisted in Steve’s shirt as he settled himself on the ground and tucked the blanket around his legs.

“I thought—I was afraid I’d dreamed it all.” Bucky said. “I woke up, and you were gone and I thought—”

“Sorry, Buck.” Steve put his arms around Bucky’s shoulders. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

“Where’d you go?”

“Just had to go to the bathroom.”

That made Bucky laugh. “To the bathroom? Did you find one? I’d love a hot bath.”

“We’ll get you one soon, okay?”

Bucky’s arm snaked around Steve’s waist. Already his shivering wasn’t as bad as it had been, and when he drifted back to sleep a few minutes later, Steve was finally able to do the same.

*****

After that Bucky got better with startling speed. The next morning, Steve tried to get him to ride on the tank with Dugan, but Bucky made a face. “The hell with that. I’m walking with you.” And he did indeed walk every step of the way. At the end of the day he looked better than he had when he’d crawled out from under the tank in the morning.

Once they got back to camp and had a few days to recover, however, Steve noticed that while Bucky’s body was in tip-top shape, he wasn’t really better. He was jumpy, and something about his eyes wasn’t right. “I’m fine,” Bucky said dismissively when Steve asked him about it, but it was obviously a lie.

Phillips dragged them all to London, and Steve was sure a few days of nourishing food and sleeping snug and warm would help, but even after a week the raggedness in Bucky’s face lingered. So one night, Steve spied on him.

Bucky went to bed with the other guys, but after everyone else had settled, Bucky climbed out of his cot and crept out of the bunkroom and into the corridor. He was fully dressed. He hadn’t even taken off his boots. Had he even tried to sleep?

Steve slunk back around the corner, not wanting Bucky to see him. Steve listened to him pace the length of the hallway for a good ten minutes, until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He took a deep breath and stepped out into the open. Bucky spun around to face him but must not have been able to recognize him in the dim light of the moon straining in through the single high window at the end of the corridor. He froze, crouching slightly, like he was expecting an attack in the darkness.

“Bucky?”

Bucky’s body instantly relaxed. “Steve? What’re you doing here?”

“I was just—” Steve should have thought of a story before he’d stepped into view. “I was thinking about the mission. Thought if you were up I’d get your two cents.”

There was a long pause before Bucky spoke. “You’re a terrible liar.”

There was no point in Steve trying to bluff his way through. He leaned against the wall, trying for a casual pose.

“You were checking up on me,” Bucky said. But he came and propped himself up next to Steve.

“You’re not yourself,” Steve said quietly. “I thought you were okay, but—”

“I am okay,” Bucky insisted. “Just can’t always sleep so well.”

Steve wanted to put his arm around Bucky’s shoulders, but there was a brittleness to Bucky’s tone that warned Steve to keep his distance.

“Well, if you’re not sleeping anyway, maybe we could work on the plan. It’ll distract you.”

Again, Bucky paused before answering. “Okay.”

Walking silently through the darkened building, it felt like they were getting away with something. Watching Bucky slip into Steve’s quarters and close the door behind them—holding the knob so the latch wouldn’t even click as it closed—just added to the feeling of doing something illicit. It turned Steve’s thoughts in a direction he knew he shouldn’t allow, especially once Bucky sat down on the cot next to him.

But Bucky was all business. “Lemme see that map.”

Steve grabbed the map and, as Bucky unfolded it, adjusted the gooseneck lamp on his tiny bedside table so that they could examine the terrain. Bucky leaned hard into Steve’s shoulder, bending down to look more closely at the map spread across their laps. Even this casual contact made Steve nervous—he’d been careful not to touch Bucky too much, afraid that his longing would be obvious. He sat still, ramrod straight, waiting for Bucky to say something about the mission.

Instead, Bucky sighed. “Sorry, I—” One hand came up to rub over his face. “Maybe if we round up some coffee? I’m not much good right now.”

“No, it’s okay.” Steve pulled the map out of Bucky’s hands and folded it. “We’ve got time. We don’t have to do this now.”

Bucky leaned back until his head and shoulders hit the wall. It put his neck at an awkward angle, so he shifted further back on the cot, crossing his legs. Then he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. “It’s not that I’m not tired,” he said. “I’m exhausted. But every time I manage to fall asleep, I jolt awake again. I don’t even know what it is. I don’t remember any bad dreams. I just—” He gave another heavy sigh.

Steve shifted on the cot until he was shoulder to shoulder with Bucky. “It’s understandable. After what you went through.”

Bucky hadn’t talked about what happened to him, and he didn’t say anything now—just shook his head, his lips pressed together into a tight line. He was listing against Steve now, his head lolling to one side. “I’m so damn tired. Why can’t I sleep?”

Steve reached out and tilted the bright light of the lamp away from them. Bucky’s eyes slitted open to follow Steve’s movement but quickly fell closed again.

“Maybe you could sleep here?” Steve told himself he was only suggesting it to help Bucky get some rest. He wasn’t being selfish, even if he loved the idea that his presence was a comfort to Bucky. “You slept some, that first night under the tank.”

Bucky’s eyes sprang open. “I don’t need you to babysit me, Rogers.”

“That’s not—” But Steve didn’t want to argue. It would only get Bucky riled up, and then he’d never get to sleep. “Just shut up and take off your boots.”

Bucky was still, and Steve tried not to squirm as he waited for Bucky to make up his mind. Then finally he sat up enough to work on his laces. His expression was sullen, and he wouldn’t meet Steve’s eye.

Steve stood to take off his jacket and his own boots, but he didn’t undress any more than that—it would make things more awkward. When he turned back, Bucky’s boots were slumped on the floor, and he was sitting on the foot of the cot, staring at his hands. Steve clicked off the lamp. It would be easier if they didn’t have to look at each other.

Moving carefully in the dark, Steve sat on the cot and swung his feet up onto it, nudging them into the narrow space between Bucky and the wall. “C’mere.” Steve tugged at Bucky’s arm, pulling him along as he lay down.

“Steve?” 

“Shut up. We’re going to sleep,” Steve said. He settled on his side and threw his arm over Bucky and held him tight until he stopped resisting and was still.

Steve was doing it to help Bucky—really he was. But holding Bucky close was gratifying and horribly tempting all at once. They’d shared a bed dozens of times over the years: When they were small and Steve stayed over because his mother was working late. When the radiators weren’t enough to fight the draft coming around the windows of their dingy apartment. And even that first night under the tank. But then Steve had been half out of his head with exhaustion and worry.

This was completely different. They were safe and comfortable—as comfortable as they could be crammed together on a cot designed for one—and Bucky was already sliding into sleep, his breaths coming slower. He slumped back against Steve’s chest, and his hair tickled Steve’s nose. Steve tried to shut off all thought and get to sleep too, but Bucky’s body was warm and solid under his arm. He wanted to press close, but he didn’t let himself. He was half hard, and the last thing he needed was for Bucky to jolt awake to _that_.

Over the last few days, Steve had been thinking a lot about his behavior during the USO tour. Shame lingered, but dwelling on that wouldn’t change a thing. So Steve would make up for it now. He was finally on the front and would do his best to prove himself up to the task. With Bucky and the guys standing by him, he felt unstoppable. And he wouldn’t ever let Bucky know how he felt. He would stop being childish and self-indulgent. Stop wishing for something that would never happen.

Even as Steve had the thought, he rolled his eyes. It was all very well to promise to stop being self-indulgent with Bucky sleeping in his arms. But he wouldn’t give in to temptation again. After tonight.

*****

Steve was alone when he woke. He dressed quickly and found Bucky already at breakfast with Morita and Dugan. Bucky had looked fine before, but he looked even better now—his whole posture more at ease. Though his eyes were wary when they met Steve’s across the table, they’d lost the worrisome haunted look. Steve gave him a nod and focused on his coffee cup. After he took a few bracing gulps, he looked back, and Bucky was smiling.

They spent the day planning the mission, and Steve loved every minute. It was even better than he could have imagined: The team working together like they’d been doing it for years. They presented their plan to Phillips, and he approved with a lift of one eyebrow, clearly surprised that they’d managed to get themselves organized so quickly.

And Bucky was at Steve’s side through it all. It wasn’t even a temptation to have him there—Steve was too busy for his mind to stray where it shouldn’t. Or at least it didn’t stray very often.

Three days later they were back in London, their first mission a rousing success. Steve sprang for a round at the pub around the corner, and afterwards all the guys trooped back to their bunks, tired and justifiably satisfied. Steve went back to his private quarters, though he was too excited to sleep. Phillips had already chosen another target, and Steve was eager to get started. This would work—keeping busy and being useful would make it so he could be with Bucky without getting distracted by what he couldn’t change.

But Bucky knocked at the door an hour later, looking sheepish. “I’ll help,” he said when he saw the notes and maps spread out on Steve’s bunk. But his eyes were sunken and shadowed. Steve wondered if he’d slept at all while they were out in the field.

“Okay,” Steve said, stepping back to let Bucky into the room.

Bucky shifted some of the papers around, trying to clear a space to sit, but Steve gathered the whole mess up in his arms and dumped it on top of his trunk.

“What’re you doing?” Bucky asked.

But when Steve turned off the lamp and nudged Bucky down onto the cot, he didn’t argue.

Bucky came to Steve’s room a lot after that. Not every night. A couple of days would go by, and Steve would watch the smudges under Bucky’s eyes darken. Then there would come a knock at the door, and Steve would stop whatever he was doing to make Bucky lie down and get some rest.

No one seemed to notice. People got used to them being joined at the hip, and Bucky would always show up at Steve’s door with a rolled-up map or a stack of papers, making it easy for anyone who saw him to assume they were just burning the midnight oil, planning yet another mission.

It wasn’t really Steve’s fault. He knew it was stupid, but he couldn’t turn Bucky away. He tried not to take advantage. He didn’t even let himself sling his arm around Bucky—not after the first time—though sometimes in their sleep they got sort of tangled up together. If Steve woke up first, he would gently pull himself away and put some space between them. It was almost enough to keep him from feeling guilty about it. 

It didn’t help that in those quiet moments alone with Bucky before they drifted off to sleep, they would talk for a while, and Bucky would crack a joke, or even just really listen—giving Steve his undivided attention. In the familiar intimacy of it, Steve caught a glimpse of how it could be.

Bucky was already family, and it wasn’t hard to imagine what it would be like if the easy affection they’d had for years shifted to let in something like the tenderness that Steve had felt for Ann, and even Charlie. And Bucky was so handsome. Steve could admit to himself now that he had only been able to consider going to bed with Warren because of his resemblance. Like Lillian, Bucky was smart, and he cared about doing the right thing, but he had Alice’s quick wit and playfulness. Steve had always liked watching Bucky flirt, even if he hadn’t thought about what it would be like to have that attention focused on him—he imagined it now, until he recalled his promise to stop wishing for something that would never happen. It was hard to remember that, though, when Bucky was everything he’d ever wanted.

*****

There was no moon, and low clouds blanketed the stars—perfect for the mission. The darkness would cover their approach. But it was early yet. They’d just eaten dinner—cold, to avoid making a fire that might be spotted.

“We’ll wait a couple of hours first though,” Steve said. “Get some rest and wait until there’s just a night crew. I’ll take the first watch.”

Bucky lingered while the others spread their bedrolls. “Watch? It’s not _watch_ ,” Bucky joked. “We should call it _listen_ cause you can’t see anything.”

Steve couldn’t help but smile back, the way Bucky was grinning at him. “Get some sleep, wise guy.”

When everyone was settled, Morita turned off the single lantern they’d lit, and the darkness was complete. Steve had to rely on his hearing, but there was nothing but the faint sounds of sleep—they’d all learned to take rest when they could, and also not to sleep on their backs in the field so there wasn’t even any snoring.

Steve knew exactly which quiet breaths were Bucky’s. After all these years, it had become familiar. Or maybe it was just that he was always too aware of Bucky’s presence. Always conscious of his position. It had its advantages—in action he knew he could rely on Bucky’s help. And keep him safe, though Steve tried his damnedest not to make it obvious that he was doing it.

After two hours, Steve lit the lantern and woke Monty. He rose quickly, without complaint, but Dugan, who was sleeping next to him, grumbled at the disturbance before rolling over and falling quiet again. Monty gave Steve a wry smile, then went to sit on a fallen log, leaning back against another trunk. He looked relaxed, but he’d stay alert. 

Leaving the dim light behind him, Steve walked carefully over the gnarled roots and pine needles. Bucky’d already spread out Steve’s things right next to his, so all Steve had to do was lie down. Monty doused the light. It was so dark, there wasn’t much difference when Steve closed his eyes.

Bucky surprised him by pressing close—Steve had thought he was asleep. They bumped into each other awkwardly for a few minutes before settling comfortably. Steve figured with the visibility being what it was, he could dare slinging one arm over Bucky’s side. It was chilly, and maybe Bucky would sleep better if he warmed up.

When Bucky shifted closer, Steve bent his head to smile down at him—stupid when they couldn’t see anything—and their noses bumped. They were so close that Steve could feel Bucky’s breath ghosting over his own lips.

Bucky didn’t pull away.

His hand was inside Steve’s coat, his fingers wrapped around the strap at Steve’s shoulder just as tightly as Steve’s fingers were now clenched in the collar of Bucky’s jacket. “Please,” Bucky breathed out.

And Steve kissed him. He barely had to move. Bucky’s lips were rough and chapped but warm, and Steve stifled a groan. It was a clumsy kiss—their teeth knocking together—but Steve couldn’t seem to put anything less than his full strength behind it. His heart was hammering against his ribs.

When Steve pulled away to catch his breath, Bucky whispered his name, then said. “I didn’t mean to.”

It didn’t make any sense. Steve had kissed Bucky, not the other way around.

“Steve,” Bucky said again. “ _Steve_.” His voice was getting louder.

Steve couldn’t think what to say, so he kissed him again to keep him quiet. And because he wanted to, desperately. They came together easily this time. No awkward press of teeth, just the warmth of Bucky’s lips, parting to allow Steve’s tongue to slide between them. But after lingering as long as he dared, Steve tore himself away from Bucky’s mouth, then nudged his head to one side so he could whisper right into his ear.

“We can’t. Not here.”

Bucky nodded, though his breath was still coming in heaving pants. He fingers released their grip, then his palms smoothed over Steve’s chest. Even through his uniform, the pressure of Bucky’s hands made Steve’s breath catch. He couldn’t resist diving in for another kiss, and Bucky made a noise. It was quiet, and he managed to choke off the sound as soon as it began.

When their mouths parted, he rested his forehead against Steve’s. One hand slid slowly around Steve’s waist, and Steve couldn’t resist pressing close, just once, his knee shoving between Bucky’s thighs—pushing his hips forward until he could feel Bucky’s dick hard against his leg. A groan slipped out of Steve’s throat before he could stop it, and that was enough to make Bucky pull away. He kept one hand on Steve’s chest, using it to keep a good foot of space between them when Steve would have moved close again.

Steve knew Bucky was being smart, but it was impossible to stop himself from touching. His hand moved restlessly over Bucky’s neck and shoulder before settling briefly on his side, then roamed down over his hip and thigh.

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky whispered.

There was a rustle of movement from the other side of the camp where Monty was sitting watch. “Everything all right?” he said quietly through the darkness.

Steve froze. He couldn’t answer, but Bucky spoke up. “Yeah.” There was no other sound from Monty.

Bucky’s hand shoved hard at Steve’s chest—a warning—but when Steve put his own hand over it, pressing it more tightly against him, Bucky sighed and let his arm relax. Steve wove their fingers together and drew Bucky’s hand up to kiss the back of it. Bucky gave Steve’s fingers a tight squeeze, then let go. Steve heard a rustle of movement and reached out. His hand met Bucky’s back—he’d turned away. Steve was tempted to curl up behind him, but that would undo all the good Bucky’s restraint had gained, so Steve forced himself to roll away, then shifted backward until his back met Bucky’s. Bucky relaxed against him, and Steve tried, in vain, to sleep.

*****

As they raced away from the fence line, Dugan sped the truck over the rutted dirt road. In spite of their best efforts to brace themselves, they were bounced around in the open bed mercilessly. They were tossed airborne as the wheels hit a particularly large trench and bumped back out of it. Even Steve’s strength didn’t save him from a few bruises.

“Dugan!” Morita shouted, but with the engine roaring full tilt, there was no way Dum Dum would hear. Morita was clinging to the side of the truck bed about halfway back and started crawling forward. Just as he lifted one hand to bang his fist on the back of the cab, the truck hit another deep rut, knocking him flat on his face. He let out a growl of frustration and bellowed Dugan’s name again.

Bucky tried to stifle his snort of laughter, but Morita heard it and glared over his shoulder, then pushed himself back up to his hands and knees. Another bad jolt hit them. Steve managed to hold on through this one, but Bucky, still laughing, was tossed up and landed hard on his ass.

“Ow!” Bucky yelled. He was still laughing though. “Jesus Christ, that hurt. I think I broke my—” He paused, collapsing flat on the floor of the truck bed. “Is there a bone there?” He rolled onto one side and rubbed at his ass with one hand. Steve averted his eyes and found that most of the fellas were laughing, or at least smiling, watching Bucky.

“Sure,” Jones said. “Your coccyx.”

“My—” Bucky broke off, and there was a pause before he burst out laughing again. “Well, I sure don’t want to break _that_ ,” he said, breathless. “That would be _bad_.”

Even Morita was grinning now, and when the truck lurched over another bump, throwing Bucky into the air again so that he came down with all his weight on one shoulder, it just made him laugh harder.

Finally Dugan slowed the truck enough that they weren’t tossed around quite so much and then stopped altogether. Morita recovered quickest, scrambling up and over the tailgate before the rest of them had dragged themselves upright. They could hear him through the canvas top: “What the hell, Dugan?”

Bucky crawled over to sit by Steve, who had to resist the urge to reach out and brush the dust out of Bucky’s hair.

Dugan’s face appeared over the tailgate. “Everyone all right back here?”

Dernier groaned.

“No thanks to you,” Bucky said.

“It was a bit of a rough ride,” Monty said. “But no permanent damage done.”

“So let’s head out?” Dugan asked eagerly.

“Plus lentement, s’il vous plaît.” Dernier was still lying flat on his back. “Je voudrais garder mon cerveau dans ma tête.”

Jones clapped his hand on Dernier’s shoulder and offered him a swig from his canteen.

“Yeah, I think we can slow the pace,” Steve agreed. “Even if anyone followed, we must have lost them by now.”

Dugan nodded and headed back up front. Morita didn’t reappear—he must have claimed the relative safety and comfort of the passenger seat.

As the engine rumbled to life, Bucky leaned closer and said, under his breath, “Speak for yourself.”

“What’s that?” Steve said.

“I don’t want to slow the pace,” Bucky said. “This truck can’t move fast enough for me.”

Steve jerked his head up. He found he couldn’t hold Bucky’s gaze. The heat in his eyes made Steve’s cheeks grow warm.

Steve scanned the faces of the other guys, but no one was paying them any attention.

“Seemed like maybe you were kind of in a hurry too,” Bucky said. “You never stopped back there.”

It was true. Steve had charged through the Hydra base without pause. They’d been fairly certain before going in that it had only a skeleton crew, so they hadn’t planned to take prisoners. Instead, they concentrated on destroying the facility, chasing out the few guards and workers and leaving them to find their own way to back to Schmidt to explain what had happened.

“Yeah.” The word came out sounding strangled and high-pitched. Steve cleared his throat before he continued. “I guess I am kind of in a hurry.”

“Been waiting long enough,” Bucky said. 

He bumped his knee against Steve’s and left it there. It was an affectionate gesture he’d done casually hundreds of times, but the memory of Bucky’s body plastered against his the night before made it entirely new. Steve knew he should probably put some space between them, but he didn’t. He pressed his leg more firmly against Bucky’s and stole a sideways glance. Bucky was wearing a small smile.

“We’ll have to wait a little though,” Steve said. “Debriefing with Phillips and—”

“No,” Bucky said.

“What?”

“Put it off somehow. Do it tomorrow. I can’t sit through that.” His voice sounded strained.

“I can try,” Steve said. “So we’ll just clean up and meet—”

“No, Jesus, Steve.” Bucky grabbed Steve’s arm but let it go again right away.

Steve glanced around, but the other guys were involved in their own quiet conversations. Still, when Bucky spoke again, his voice was even quieter. “I’m telling you I can’t wait.”

“You can’t?”

Bucky shook his head. “I’ve been waiting forever.” His voice was barely audible now. Steve had to lean in to hear him. “I’ve wanted you for a long, long time.”

Steve couldn’t say anything for a while. He forced himself to sit upright, glancing around at the other guys again. It seemed incredible that they could be oblivious—his arousal had to be as obvious as a red flag waving on a snowy field. “Since November?” Steve whispered. Maybe Bucky only noticed him when he showed up big and strong.

Bucky snorted. “You kidding? Since _forever_.”

“Really?” Steve said. “You really wanted me before?”

Bucky’s leg pressed hard against Steve’s. “I wanted you like crazy.” 

“But I was scrawny.”

“No, you weren’t.”

Steve laughed. “I really was.”

“But I liked it. It was just . . .” Bucky shrugged, “you.” He seemed to realize how this might sound to Steve and turned to smile at him. His eyes moved slowly down the length of Steve’s body. “But this is good too.” His grin turned sly. “Don’t get me wrong.”

Steve tore his gaze away from Bucky’s and swallowed. “Wait, if that’s true, then why were you always trying to fix me up with dames?”

“I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“Yeah,” Steve said after a pause. “I guess that’s what I thought I wanted too.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I was so jealous I couldn’t see straight.”

Steve laughed. “Why would that make me feel better?”

“I don’t know. I’m not thinking right.”

Steve nudged at Bucky’s leg with his knee.

“I feel like I haven’t been thinking right since you showed up,” Bucky continued.

Concern made Steve turn back to Bucky, but he looked sheepish, not haunted. “Bucky?”

Bucky let out a huffing sigh and leaned close again. “That’s why I’ve been sneaking into your room at night.” When Steve frowned, Bucky hurried to explain. “Not at first. At first I really was a mess. But even after I was better . . . I just liked it. Sleeping there with you. So I played it up. Let you think I was still having trouble.” He looked genuinely worried that Steve might be angry with him.

“Jeez, we’re a couple of idiots.” Steve elbowed Bucky in the ribs. “The whole time I was feeling guilty—wanting you to keep coming cause I liked it too but knowing I should be wishing for you to get better.”

The growl of the truck’s engine was lessening. The sound wouldn’t cover their conversation anymore. Steve tried to look reassuring, and Bucky seemed to get it. His face brightened. The engine cut off completely, and Bucky schooled his expression into something grim. It made Steve want to laugh, but Dugan’s voice boomed into the back, so Steve ducked his head and frowned.

“Christ almighty, look at Cap and Sarge in there. Already planning our funerals?”

“Time to pack up the moon?” Monty said. “Dismantle the sun?”

Morita’s head popped up over the tailgate. “What the hell does that mean?”

“What’s the next mission?” Jones asked with a smile. “Or should I be afraid to ask?”

“Shut up all of you and get us the hell back to base!” Bucky shouted.

Dugan grinned before he disappeared again.

“We need the map,” Morita said. “I kept telling him we were too far north but—”

Bucky cut him off with a groan. “You gotta be fucking kidding me. We’re lost?”

It turned out they weren’t just lost. They were miles out of their way, and the gas tank was almost empty. Somehow, without any stars or moonlight to guide him, Dugan had driven in exactly the opposite direction they needed to go to get back to base. Then, embarrassed by his mistake, he’d tried to correct for it but had only managed to get himself more turned around. Steve couldn’t be angry at him. He and Bucky were supposed to be in charge, and they should have noticed the problem a long time ago, but they’d been . . . distracted.

If they hadn’t gotten lost, they would have reached the base in time for lunch, but night had fallen again by the time they’d gotten their hands on some gasoline and made it back. The SSR had taken over nearly an entire town in the south of France. Colonel Phillips didn’t even make Steve come up with an excuse. The moment he asked to delay the debriefing until the next day, Phillips had squinted at him and waved him away impatiently. Steve almost ran to his room in the town’s only hotel and found Bucky already there, waiting.

Steve dropped his shield and helmet on the floor and locked the door behind him. But he didn’t know what to do next. Bucky was perched on the end of the bed, and he didn’t move either.

“I’m—” Steve swallowed. “I’m almost afraid to touch you.”

Bucky finally huffed out a laugh, stood up, and crossed over to Steve. He put his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Well, I’m not afraid.” His hand slid up to the back of Steve’s neck, tugging him down until their lips met. Steve settled his hands on Bucky’s hips, wanting him closer, but Bucky pushed him away with both hands on his chest to work at the buckles and straps of the uniform.

Steve tried to help, but Bucky kept shoving his hands out of the way. “Why is this so impossible to get out of?” Bucky said after several minutes of struggling. 

Steve wrapped his hands around both of Bucky’s and gently pulled them off the uniform. “Let me.” But Steve had barely gotten started when Bucky slammed him against the door, pressing close for a kiss. Steve ignored his own clothes in favor of wrestling Bucky out of his shirt.

When Steve tugged at the hem of Bucky’s undershirt, he finally took a step back. Steve pulled it off and had every intention of starting on his own uniform, but the sight of that much skin was distracting. One hand skimmed over Bucky’s shoulder and down over his chest, while the other hand slid around his waist to bring him in for a kiss. But Bucky spun out of Steve’s grasp.

“Nuh-uh,” Bucky said. “At this rate we’ll never get naked.” He sat on the end of the bed. “Go ahead. I’m not gonna be able to get that thing off of you.”

Steve still had his belt on, so he started with that, letting it fall heavily to the floor. Then he fumbled to detach his shirt from the waistband of his pants, but with Bucky watching, his fingers were clumsy.

“ _Bucky_.”

“What?”

“You’re kinda staring.”

“Well, sorry, but I happen to like your face.” Bucky gave him a cocky grin and fell back on his elbows, still staring. “Even if it’s about a foot higher than it should be.”

When Steve finally got the uniform shirt off his head, Bucky’s eyes were still fixed on him, but he was looking Steve right in the eye rather than at his bare chest. Steve wondered if maybe the change in him was too much. Though Bucky’d said in the truck that it was good, the strangeness of it might put him off. But the way Bucky was lounging back on the bed let Steve see that he was hard in his pants, so it couldn’t be all that bad. And it was a relief that Bucky wanted _him_ , not his manufactured muscles.

Steve sat on the bed, lying back on one elbow so he could turn and kiss Bucky. He ran his fingers through Steve’s hair, holding him in place and licking into Steve’s mouth. His hand wandered down Steve’s neck to his shoulder. After a few more lingering kisses, he nudged Steve away and reached for his fly. Steve tried to help, but Bucky swatted his hand away.

“This I can manage.” Bucky watched his own fingers sliding Steve’s zipper open, then tugged at the pants until Steve collapsed flat on the mattress to let Bucky tug them down.

“Wait,” Steve said as Bucky worked the pants over his hips. “My boots.”

Bucky let out a huff of frustration, then slid off the bed and started unlacing Steve’s left boot. Steve sat up to work on the right, and once they were both undone kicked them off and stood to get his pants off. Bucky was still kneeling on the floor and stared up at Steve, stark naked. “Not bad, Rogers.”

Steve knew he was blushing but didn’t care once Bucky slid one hand up his thigh, then wrapped it around his dick. Steve groaned, and Bucky laughed. He stood up to kiss Steve, then whispered in his ear: “You gotta keep it down, okay? But I like hearing you make that noise.”

Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky to pull him close for another kiss. The fabric of his trousers was rough against Steve’s dick, but he pushed his hips into Bucky’s until Bucky let out a moan. Steve cringed. “What was that you were saying about being quiet?” But he couldn’t stop rutting against Bucky.

“I know,” Bucky said. “Jesus, I know. It’s just hard to shut up.”

“Kiss me,” Steve said.

Bucky did—a filthy, wet kiss with lots of tongue—but then he shoved Steve back until his legs hit the bed and he sat down. “Stay there,” Bucky ordered. “I’m gonna get my boots off. I keep getting sidetracked.” He crouched and quickly unlaced his boots, then stripped off the rest of his clothes.

Steve had seen Bucky naked hundreds of time before, but never like this, with Bucky grinning at him slyly and his dick hard. He tackled Steve flat on the bed, which let out a worrisome creak. They both froze, until Bucky snorted out a laugh.

“How is that keeping quiet?” Steve asked, but he was holding in laughter too.

“Ssshhh,” Bucky said.

He shifted his body until he was lying on top of Steve, settling between his legs and kissing him. The kisses quickly grew more heated, until there was no telling one from the next. Bucky moved on top of Steve, sliding with their dicks pressed tight between their bodies, and let out a long hiss. “Wow, Steve,” he whispered. “Wow, you feel good. I just wanna—”

Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s back, pulling him as close as he could get. It was perfect: Bucky’s skin under his hands, their chests tight together with each heaving breath, and Bucky’s hips thrusting against his, the hard length of his dick rubbing right alongside Steve’s.

Bucky panted out Steve’s name. It was awkward for Steve to move with Bucky’s weight on top of him, but he didn’t have to with Bucky rocking his hips, faster and faster. He just wrapped his arms around Bucky’s back and held on tight until Bucky was gasping, his dick jerking. Steve felt a hot flood across his belly and pushed up into it. A couple of thrusts through the slickness between them was all it took for Steve to come too, clutching at Bucky’s shoulders, burying his face in Bucky’s neck to keep from being loud.

They shared a clumsy kiss, their mouths not quite lining up, then Bucky rolled off and flopped onto the mattress. Steve lifted his head. Bucky lay sprawled on his back, with his eyes closed. Steve pushed himself up on his elbows and shifted closer so he could press a kiss to Bucky’s goofy smile. His eyes opened—just a slit—and his smile grew wider.

Bucky tugged Steve down until he settled with his head on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky let out a jaw-splitting yawn, then his fingers began combing idly through Steve’s hair as his eyelids drooped down again. Steve wanted to savor the moment, but the pull of sleep was too strong.

*****

It was still dark outside when Steve woke up, but they’d never turned out the bedside lamp. His limbs were tangled with Bucky’s, and his dick was already hard, pressing against Bucky’s thigh, but that was hardly surprising. He tried not to move—to let Bucky sleep, but he soon stirred. His hand roamed up Steve’s chest, over his shoulder, and down his arm as he tilted his head up for a kiss, even before he’d opened his eyes.

“Mmm,” Bucky said, pressing even closer. “I wonder if I’ll ever get used to this.”

“Used to what?”

“You being so big,” Bucky said. “I just don’t picture you in my head this way. It’s a surprise every time I see you.”

Bucky’s hand was still wandering, pushing the covers out of the way so he could see better, and Steve found he didn’t mind. He’d learned to treat his new body as a thing apart. But now that he was fighting, now that he was useful, it was easier to take ownership. And with Bucky there looking at Steve’s new frame as foreign, something to be figured out—it made Steve want to figure it out too.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll get used to it,” Bucky said. “I mean—” His hand slipped around behind Steve to squeeze his ass. “There are some parts I’m already getting used to.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve shifted his hips to give Bucky easier access—he could squeeze all he wanted. He ducked his head to trace a line of kisses down Bucky’s neck as Bucky yawned widely.

“You’re tired,” Steve said. “Wanna go back to sleep?”

Bucky laughed and turned so that his dick was poking at Steve’s hip. “Not sleepy,” he said, but his movements were still lazy. He was always slow to wake up, so Steve would take it easy. He kept up with the kisses to Bucky’s neck, but gently.

Bucky yawned again, then asked, “Do you think it counts?”

“Counts?” Steve pulled back. “Do I think _what_ counts?”

“Before,” Bucky said. “Does that count as losing your virginity?”

“Oh, Buck, I’m not—I mean, I wasn’t. Not for a long time.” Steve pushed up to look at Bucky, but he’d turned his face away. “I’m sorry I never told you.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Bucky’s voice was almost a whisper. “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t really think you were still—I don’t know half of what I’m saying.” He moved suddenly, rolling to face Steve again but shifting lower to hide his face against Steve’s chest.

“Bucky?” Steve was starting to figure out why Bucky was embarrassed, but it was hard to believe. Bucky sure hadn’t acted like a virgin. He’d been eager—less shy than Steve. “Have you never—?”

Bucky laughed, but Steve could hear the nervousness in it. “Come on, Steve.”

Steve wrapped his arm around Bucky’s back. “Bucky.”

After a long pause and a sigh, Bucky finally answered. “I came close with girls a bunch of times, but—” He shrugged—the gesture made awkward by Steve’s arm draped over his. “I guess I just didn’t want it enough. And this is different anyway.”

“You know I don’t care, right?” Steve pulled away to see Bucky’s face. His mouth was pinched. “I don’t, Buck. I don’t care at all. I _like_ it.”

Steve did like it—liked knowing that he would be Bucky’s first. And now he could be the one to show him how things worked. Steve almost told Bucky about Charlie—how much he’d like teaching him what to do, but he didn’t want to bring even the memory of other people into the discussion, not when he wasn’t sure how Bucky would feel once he understood how much experience Steve had gotten since that embarrassing night before his twentieth birthday.

“It doesn’t bother me, Bucky. Really,” Steve said. “But does it bother you? That I’m not a virgin anymore?”

Bucky answered right away. “No. No, of course not.” He looked up then, and must have been able to see Steve’s regret on his face. “Come on, none of that,” Bucky said. “We’re here now aren’t we?”

Steve nodded. Bucky was right.

“And anyway,” Steve said. “I think this did count.”

“You think?”

“Yeah.” Steve tugged Bucky closer and kissed him. “I do.”

“Well.” Bucky still looked doubtful, but then his expression turned sly. “Maybe we should do more. Just to be on the safe side.”

“You think?”

Bucky’s hand snaked between their bodies. “You gonna pretend you don’t want to?” He grabbed Steve’s dick where it was nudging at Bucky’s leg. “I think _this_ says otherwise.”

Steve shook his head. “No pretending. There’s so much I want to—” Bucky cut him off with a kiss, but Steve pulled back. “Let’s clean up first.”

Bucky groaned.

“C’mon, Buck. I’m a mess, and you’re not much better. It’ll feel good.”

“I guess we are a little crusty,” Bucky said with a sigh.

Steve squinted at him. “That’s disgusting.”

Bucky pulled himself upright and swung his legs down off the bed.

“You wait here,” Steve said, scrambling out of bed on the other side. “I’ll get us some clean towels. Bring them back here. Less chance of somebody seeing.”

Bucky flopped gratefully back onto the mattress. “You think anyone’s up? It’s the middle of the night.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

Steve pulled on just his boxers and headed down the hall to the bathroom to wash up. The whole hotel was dark and silent as he crept back to his room with a dripping washcloth and a dry towel for Bucky, who was sprawled out on the bed again when Steve slipped back into the room.

He held out the washcloth, and Bucky said, “You want to go first?”

“I washed up in the bathroom.”

“I wondered what took you so long.” Bucky took the washcloth and towel from Steve with one hand and started to push the covers off his lap with the other, but he peeked at Steve out of the corner of his eye.

“C’mon, Buck, you’re not shy, are you? Not with me.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but he still didn’t get up. “I’ve just been sitting here, waiting. Thinking about you.”

“Yeah?” Steve smiled, then leaned down for a kiss. “What were you thinking about exactly?”

Their next kiss was interrupted by a snort of laughter from Bucky. “What do you think? Stuff I want to do to you.”

“I still don’t see the problem.” Steve knelt on the floor next to the bed and looked up at Bucky’s face.

“No control, every time I think about you—” He shoved the blankets away, revealing his impressive erection.

Steve didn’t hesitate: he lowered his head, ready to take Bucky into his mouth.

“Whoa, Jesus. Wait, Steve, I’m still a mess.”

“Well, why do you think I wanted to wash up first?” Bucky made a strange garbled sound that caught in his throat, and Steve looked up in concern. “You okay?”

“You wanted to wash up just so you could give me suckjob?”

Steve’s cheeks flushed. “Pretty much.”

Bucky grabbed Steve’s head, gave him a hard peck of a kiss, then shoved him away. “Get naked again.”

“Bucky?”

“Right now.” He swiped at his crotch and stomach with the washcloth. “It’s cold,” he hissed.

“It was warm when I brought it in here.” Steve stood to slide his boxers off onto the floor. “If you hadn’t gotten all shy on me—”

Bucky laughed. “Excuse the hell out of me. I’m not _shy_ , just not used to parading around in front of you with my dick sticking out.”

He’d barely dropped the towels on the floor when Steve dove back on top of him for a kiss, then moved quickly down his body to finally wrap his lips around Bucky’s dick. There was a loud, long exhalation, like all the air left Bucky’s lungs. Steve started slow, teasing the tip with his tongue, then starting bobbing his head, taking Bucky deeper each time until he groaned. His hand came to rest on top of Steve’s head.

“God, _God_ , that’s—”

Steve sucked hard, and Bucky’s fingers tightened in his hair.

“Steve,” Bucky moaned. “ _Steve_.” His hips were twitching up—he was already getting close, but Steve didn’t want him to finish too soon. It had only been a couple of hours since the last time. If Bucky came now, it might be a while before he’d be ready to go again, and Steve really wanted Bucky to fuck him. He just didn’t know how to ask.

Steve pulled off. Bucky groaned in protest, so Steve used his hand for a few lazy strokes.

“C’mon, Steve,” Bucky whispered. “Don’t stop.”

“I’m not,” Steve said. “I just—there’s something else I really want to do.”

Bucky lifted his head and peered along the length of his body at Steve. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. He bent his head to give Bucky’s dick a bit more attention before crawling up the bed for a kiss.

Bucky tugged him down on the bed, rolling towards him so they were face to face. “What is it you’re thinking about?”

Steve cinched his arms around Bucky’s torso in a tight hug. He thought about how much he’d liked surprising fellas while back on tour. Though his bald invitations might be out of place, here with Bucky—it seemed like this should be different. Still, that was part of Steve’s problem, wasn’t it? His tendency to separate sex in his head from tenderness. That was why he’d always wanted to leave once the sex was over. With Bucky, Steve wouldn’t want to climb out of bed and walk away.

Steve had liked when sex was silly and fun, and certainly his friendship with Bucky had always had that part to it, right along with the fondness. Why should that stop just because they were in bed? Steve had often thought that if he’d been less serious with Ann, maybe things would have worked out better—he might have been able to make her forget. Steve liked sex that was fun and wanton. If he could have that with Alice, with Warren, and even with some of the nameless men, surely he could capture that with Bucky, the person who knew Steve best in all the world. They could have fun and say filthy things and still be tender with one another, right?

Bucky’s hands skimmed over Steve’s skin, over his ribs and down his back. “Steve?”

“Sorry.” Steve leaned in for another kiss.

“You look so serious.”

“Nah,” Steve said. “I was actually thinking about how I don’t _want_ to be serious.”

“Okay.”

But Bucky still looked puzzled, if not downright concerned, and Steve didn’t want to kill the mood. So he just came out and said it: “I want you to fuck me.”

Bucky stared. For several agonizing moments, he just stared at Steve, his eyes huge. Then he laughed, and Steve worried that Bucky thought he was joking. Until he clambered on top of him, straddling his hips and plunging his tongue into his mouth.

“Show me,” Bucky said when he pulled away, panting. He latched onto the skin below Steve’s ear and gave it a sucking kiss. “Show me what to do.”

“Okay.” Steve pushed his body up to meet Bucky’s. He didn’t want to pause, not for anything—he felt desperate to feel Bucky inside him, but he’d need to get up and find the Vaseline in his bag. He grabbed Bucky by both ears and angled his head for a kiss. “I have to just—” Another kiss, then he nudged at Bucky’s side until he rolled off. “I’ll be right back.”

Steve had to root around under his clothes until he found the little jar. He hadn’t needed it since coming to Europe—he’d only wanted Bucky. After he found it, he turned back and found Bucky staring, though not at his face this time. He was looking right at Steve’s dick, jutting out. Though Steve liked it, it made him blush. When he got back into bed, he settled on his stomach, propped up on his elbows and pressing his dick into the mattress. He wasn’t hiding—not exactly. But it made him feel less self-conscious.

Bucky immediately turned onto his side to trail one hand down Steve’s back, over the swell of his ass, and down his leg. Steve’s hips tilted up off the bed, and Bucky’s hand slid back up, coming to rest on Steve’s ass.

“You like that?” Bucky whispered.

Steve nodded vigorously, his face flaming, and Bucky chuckled. He leaned closer and planted a loud smack of a kiss right on Steve’s ear. His hand moved in a teasing circle, inching closer to the crack of Steve’s ass. Steve made himself stay still rather than squirming to one side to speed things along.

“We have to—” Steve cut himself off with a gasp when Bucky gave one cheek a good hard squeeze, his fingers brushing close to Steve’s asshole. “Oh God.”

Bucky laughed and nudged at the side of Steve’s head until he turned for a kiss. Bucky kept squeezing, and Steve’s hips hovered off the bed, pushing back into Bucky’s hand.

“Bucky,” Steve panted out. “It’s not like with a girl.”

“Yeah,” Bucky murmured. “I figured that much out for myself.”

“I mean I have to—” Steve pulled away and lifted the hand with the Vaseline jar. “To get ready.”

Bucky looked puzzled, and Steve thought he’d have to explain more. But then Bucky said. “Can’t I do it?”

“You want to?”

“Are you kidding? I can tell you like it. Every move you make is begging for it.”

“Bucky—”

“Don’t _you_ get shy now. It’s amazing. I wanna make you nuts with it.”

Bucky kissed Steve hard, then snatched the jar from his hand. He dipped two fingers in, put the lid back on, then didn’t hesitate—just stuck his hand right between the cheeks of Steve’s ass, making him gasp. But it was impossible to feel shy or embarrassed when it felt so damn good—Bucky’s fingers gliding back and forth, his breath panting in Steve’s ear. Bucky rubbed harder, and Steve groaned, his hips again canting shamelessly to get Bucky’s fingers in just the right spot.

“Wow, you really do like this, huh?” Bucky’s lips brushed Steve’s ear.

Steve nodded.

The motion of Bucky’s hand slowed, and his fingers explored the slickness. “So how do I—?” Bucky broke off when his fingertip slid inside. “Is that it?”

“Yes,” Steve whispered. “Yes, _please_ , right there.”

Bucky shoved his finger deeper, and Steve pushed back, groaning.

“God, this is—” Bucky nudged Steve’s head to the side to kiss his neck. “I love how much you want it.”

“I do,” Steve panted. “Please, Buck, I want more.”

“Yeah?” Bucky’s hand stilled. “How do I—?” His fingers probed awkwardly until he managed to slip a second one in with the first. Steve groaned, and Bucky groaned right along with him. Then he growled against Steve’s shoulder, “This is gonna feel so fucking good. It’s so _tight_.”

Hearing Bucky talk like that—knowing how it would feel when Bucky was finally inside him—it made Steve impatient. He rocked between Bucky’s stroking fingers and pushing his dick against the mattress below him. He wanted to tell Bucky to just get on with it but knew Bucky wouldn’t want to cause him even a hint of discomfort. Steve twisted his body to kiss Bucky’s lips, reaching down to grab Bucky’s dick.

“Hey, don’t—” Bucky groaned. “Cut it out. You’re gonna make me come too soon.”

“Let’s hurry up then,” Steve said. “Stick another one in.”

Bucky let out a surprised noise. “You sure? It’s—”

“ _Please_.”

Bucky took a deep breath and eased a third finger in beside the other two, but he didn’t move at all. “You okay?”

Steve nodded and tightened his muscles around Bucky’s fingers. “I want you inside me, Buck. Come on. I’m ready.”

“God, yeah. Okay, just let me—” He slid his fingers in and out, twisting them. “Let me just—”

Steve turned toward Bucky again, groping between their bodies until he found the Vaseline. He scooped out a blob of it and, turning awkwardly, spread it on the head of Bucky’s dick, then farther down, a few insistent tugs, hoping to make Bucky as impatient as he himself felt.

“ _Okay_ ,” Bucky said.

His hand withdrew, and he climbed between Steve’s legs. Steve was thankful that he didn’t hesitate. He positioned himself quickly and slid inside, though he moved slowly. But Steve wouldn’t wait. He pushed up on his knees, taking Bucky deep inside him.

Bucky let out an incoherent yelp. He grabbed Steve’s waist with both hands, holding him still. He gasped out Steve’s name, then started fucking Steve with long, slow thrusts of his hips. Bucky filled Steve perfectly, the drag of his dick as he withdrew making Steve tighten around him almost reflexively, so when he pushed close again, every sensation was intensified.

Steve wanted to beg Bucky to go faster, to push harder, but couldn’t make his lips form the words. Instead he shoved backward blindly, and Bucky caught on right away, snapping his hips into Steve’s. Steve let out a loud moan, and Bucky laughed breathlessly before falling on Steve’s back and reaching around to grab his dick. The quick strokes of Bucky’s fingers made Steve’s hips jerk forward, fucking Bucky’s fist, and after just a few thrusts he came hard, his every muscle seizing tight. Bucky groaned at the clench of Steve’s body around him. He moved faster still, his hips slamming into Steve’s with every thrust until he too froze and came with a strangled cry.

Steve held himself up on all fours—though his arms were shaking and Bucky was a dead weight on his back—until Bucky roused. He planted a kiss between Steve’s shoulder blades and pushed himself upright. His softening dick slid out of Steve’s body, and even that felt good, sending a shiver up Steve’s spine.

Bucky fell onto the mattress and reached out for Steve, tugging him down for a kiss. He was grinning. “So that makes it official.”

“Official?” Steve murmured. He pushed his face against Bucky’s neck, and Bucky’s arms circled his shoulders.

“I’m definitely not a virgin after that.”

Steve smiled against Bucky’s skin. “Nope.”

“Jesus, that was good,” Bucky said. His arms tightened, pulling Steve closer. “And you really like it?”

Steve would have laughed if he’d had enough breath in his lungs. As it was, he let out a few feeble huffs of air. “You were there, right? I think it was pretty obvious.”

“I mean, I know you liked it,” Bucky said. “But you’re not just . . . doing it to be nice?”

Steve did laugh then. “I should let you think that. Just say every time, _Oh I guess I’ll do it. If you really want_.” He turned and poked his knuckles into the ticklish spot under Bucky’s ribs. “Of course I liked it. I want to do it all over again, right this second.”

Bucky snorted. “The spirit is willing, but the flesh . . .” He lifted his head and glanced down. “Yeah, you’re going to need to wait a while for that.”

“That’s okay.” Steve settled his head on Bucky’s shoulder and closed his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The End


End file.
